April to April
by labyrinth38
Summary: Wilson's in love and really wants to make it work this time. How does it affect House? - A year in the life of House and Wilson... Spoilers for S4 but NOT for the season finale. HW friendship; no slash! Hurt/Comfort
1. April

**Hey guys! I started writing something a while ago, while Wilson was with Amber and the season finale was still far away… It doesn't fit that well now I guess, but I decided to just post it anyway. :)**

**It starts off about two months after episode 4.12 ("Don't ever change") and goes AU from there. - One year in the life of our favorite doctors. Through hurt/comfort goggles of course… ;) Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

"_Shabbat shalom, Wilson…"_

"_Shabbat shalom, House…"_

_(House M.D., "Don't ever change")_

* * *

**April (Prologue)**

"How are you doing…?"

House was slightly startled by the gentle question, raising his head abruptly to meet Cuddy's questioning gaze. Unable to come up with a sarcastic reply quickly enough, and being much too tired anyway, he finally just shrugged, hoping to appear casual. "Fine… Good."

She slowly nodded in response, her warm gaze still resting on him, assessingly. "So… What have you been up to lately?" She also obviously concentrated on sounding casual now. Non-threatening. Even though it was a rhetorical question really. What everybody around the hospital _knew _was that he _hadn't_ been hanging out with Wilson lately… Except for the occasional lunch, that era had, apparently, passed.

Since Amber.

Her relationship with Wilson had somehow changed everything. And to everyone's surprise, House seemed to have actually on some level accepted that, for once… He seemed to have, somehow, understood that Wilson wanted this, wanted more out of his life than just his job and their lopsided friendship, and he had apparently forced himself to let the younger man go. No hysterics this time; no drama. Just some quiet words of parting. Once he'd been certain of the benigness of Amber's motives, he'd simply given them both his blessing and quietly left the scene.

It wasn't as if they'd had a fight over it or even any sort of official discussion or agreement. It was just that, after their final talk about the subject and House's denial of any tendency of self-sacrifice, Wilson had turned to Amber and House hadn't stopped him. Hadn't even attempted to fight for part of Wilson's attention. Or time.

Maybe Wilson hadn't even realized it at the time, but House had somehow severed their ties. Had given in to Amber. To Wilson's apparent longing for a 'normal' life. A stable relationship with a woman. A break from House and his problems.

House gave another small shrug, before turning towards the clinic counter again, resuming his scribbling in some random patient's chart. "You mean besides the usual? Drugs, hookers, and late-night porn…?"

Instead of replying anything, Cuddy gently touched his arm, the comforting gesture somehow unsettling him. "If you want to talk, I'm here for you. I hope you know that…"

He raised his eyebrows comically at that, gaze now travelling southwards, provocatively coming to rest on her chest. "Well, which _part_ of you would be here for me, Dr Cuddy?" He asked innocently, in classic House manner, his eyes never leaving her décolleté.

She just smiled at him in response, patting his arm once more, before turning towards her office.

"You know…" Came the overly loud call after her. "If the girls wanted some _attention_, all you'd have to do is _say_ so!"

With a somewhat sad smile, she continued walking…

* * *

tbc… :)


	2. May

**May**

When Wilson left the hospital, it was long dark outside. He was just about to turn towards his car, when he noticed House standing next to his motorcycle, apparently intending to mount it but currently not doing so. Instead, he seemed to be simply holding onto the machine's handlebars, standing with his head bowed, unmoving. Wilson couldn't help but frown at the strange scene.

Hesitating very briefly, he finally changed direction and approached the other man, clearing his throat slightly when he was just a few steps away.

House slowly turned his head a bit to look at him, but didn't let go of the bike. Nor did he say anything…

"Hey…" Wilson tried tentatively, raising his eyebrows a little, puzzled by the other man's unusual behavior.

House replied with a very small nod. "Hey."

Wilson's frown deepened. "Everything okay with it?" He gestured towards the vehicle.

House just nodded his head once, before reluctantly letting go of the handlebars and adjusting his position slightly. He almost completely kept his weight off the right leg, and that was when Wilson got it.

"You can't get on, can you?" Almost a hint of accusation in his tone.

House let out a small puff of air, marveling at how he could once more see his breath, even though the days had already warmed up so much that it had to be officially considered spring…

He finally just shrugged his shoulders noncommittally, turning his head to the side, automatically evading the other man's intent gaze. "It's been a long week…"

Wilson didn't reply anything for a long moment, before finally nodding slightly. Another brief moment of hesitation; then: "You want a ride?" He vaguely gestured into the direction of his own car, wondering when in the all world things had gotten this awkward between them.

House looked at him for a moment, but then just shook his head, half-heartedly turning towards the bike again.

Wilson rolled his eyes at that. "Come on, House… It's freezing. – Let's just go to my car and you'll be home in 10 minutes…" He waited until the other man met his gaze again, before once more nodding towards his car, prompting House to join him.

Which he did. Still hesitantly.

After about 50 silent yards, House suddenly stopped walking, one hand quickly grasping the metal pole of one of the parking signs, the other still firmly on his cane. He didn't meet Wilson's questioning gaze.

When the younger man hesitantly approached him, he quickly shook his head in an impatient gesture of slight annoyance. "Just… give me a minute. – Or better yet, go ahead. I still know what your car looks like…"

Wilson was slightly shocked that his friend apparently _actually_ needed a break. From walking on a flat, well-constructed surface. His weak leg was once again sharply bent, not taking any weight at the moment. After a minute of uneasy silence, he finally straightened up again and carefully resumed walking.

Wilson quickly caught up with him, then adjusted his stride to match his friend's momentarily slow gait.

Neither of them spoke on their way to the car.

When Wilson had finally parked in front of the other man's apartment a good 20 minutes later, House turned towards him, eyeing him fully for the first time that night. "Thanks." Without waiting for a reply, he slowly started to ease himself out of the car. Briefly meeting the still familiar brown eyes again, he then prepared himself to slam the car door shut. "Night Wilson…"

For some reason, the younger man actually winced briefly. "Night House…"

* * *

Wilson stopped by House's office a couple of days later, unable to shake off the concern that had inevitably started to creep up, when he'd seen his friend's apparent difficulties the night he had given him a ride. He found House behind his desk working at his PC, but interrupting whatever he was doing to look up at him as soon as he had entered the room. Without waiting for an invitation, he flopped down in the chair opposite his friend's desk.

He let his warm gaze rest on the other man for a moment, until House raised a questioning eyebrow.

When Wilson finally spoke, his voice was soft. "You look tired, House… Are you okay?" Genuine concern was evident in his tone.

For some reason, it seemed to annoy House, who replied with his trademark eye roll. "Don't know why you all keep asking me that…" Then, brightly: "I'm _more_ than okay! Peachy. Perfect. – My usual _jolly _self…"

Wilson nodded slowly, obviously unconvinced by his friend's obvious evasion, but also resigned to the fact that if House didn't want to talk, he wouldn't. The walls were clearly fully up right now…

"You wanna grab some lunch later?" He instead decided to try the casual approach.

House eyed him for a moment, then just shrugged. "Busy…"

Now it was Wilson's turn to roll his eyes. "Come on, House… A quick sandwich. You've got time for that."

House impatiently met his gaze again. "Half an hour. – And you're buying…"

* * *

They shared lunch in a mostly relaxed atmosphere, both taking comfort in the familiarity of the situation. - Until Wilson spoke again...

"Wanna go to Cecil's tonight? For a couple of drinks? – I hear they have some…" He gestured slightly with one hand. "…jazz band playing tonight."

House actually looked surprised for a moment, before schooling his features into gruff impassiveness again. "What… CB givin' you leave tonight…?!" Tone sarcastic; harsh. Somewhat bitter even…

Wilson didn't seem to notice, replying with a casual half-shrug. "She's visiting her parents. Alone. – Some… family thing." Another shrug.

House's face turned even more stony at that, but Wilson simply continued, for once insensitive to his friend's inner musings. "So… Are we on?"

House shook his head, posture suddenly tense. "Sorry. Busy."

Wilson eyed him incredulously. "Doing what… Archiving your porn collection?" For a moment he thought he saw a brief flash of hurt crossing the other man's features.

But then he replied in typical House manner, nodding vigorously, face a mixture of a comic and an exaggeratedly serious mask. "While practicing to it!"

Lifting a hand in mock disgust, Wilson tried to stop him before he could delve any further into the subject. "Okay. Enough of the libido-crushing mental images…"

They fell into their usual banter pretty quickly again after that...

It was only after House had left, that Wilson noticed that he'd had, for once, a complete meal.

* * *

Tbc…

Thanks for reading! :)


	3. June

**Ju****ne**

Cuddy intercepted Wilson on his way to the elevator. She gave him a small smile, taking a moment to consider how best to start the conversation. She finally decided to come directly to the point.

"House just called in sick the third day in a row… You know what's up with him?" She kept her tone light, curiously regarding the oncologist.

Wilson frowned slightly at the information, but then just shook his head. "No… Did you ask his team?"

A fleeting expression of sadness crossed Cuddy's face at Wilson's spontaneous reply, before she willed herself to continue neutrally; clinically.

"Yes. They don't know anything either." Then, tentatively: "I would like someone to look in on him briefly. Make sure he's okay… - Do you have a little time today to do that?"

Wilson's frown deepened. "Not really, no… Amber and I have made reservations - "

Cuddy brusquely interrupted him, looking almost angry for a brief moment. "Half an hour, Wilson. That's all this takes. Just a quick visit." Then, her expression softening slightly: "Please, Wilson… I've got a meeting with a potential donor tonight, and I don't want to ask his team."

Wilson hesitated briefly, obviously considering his alternatives; he finally responded with a small nod. "Okay. I'll check up on him. – But he won't like this…" He warned. "He'd call if he wanted company."

She simply smiled at him. "Yeah well… Tell him to leave the front desk with some specifics next time he calls in sick. That way _I_ won't have to play private detective and _he_ gets to be left in peace…" When Wilson had already entered the elevator, she called after him: "Oh, and get the backpack from his office, will you? He must have left it here on Monday. – Who knows what he's actually got in there…"

* * *

When Wilson arrived at his friend's apartment later that same day, he found House's motorcycle parked in front of the building, so he assumed the other man was indeed home. But knocking on his door for a couple of minutes got him no response. He was almost ready to use the spare key he still had. Except, for some reason, it didn't feel right anymore to do that…

He finally called his friend's cell phone.

House answered on the fourth ring.

"What…" Sounding pissed off as usual.

"Uh… I'm standing in front of your apartment. Where are you?"

"_Inside_ the apartment."

"Cuddy's worried about you, House… Let me in."

"No."

"House… - You called in sick three days in a row." So much for stating the obvious…

"Yep, I know. I was _there_."

A frustrated half-glance towards the ceiling. Then: "Come on, House… Open the door and let me in for a minute. – Cuddy's _really _worried. She made me swear a blood oath. Can't leave without evidence of your continuous existence..."

"Well, then my lovely voice should be enough to do the trick, shouldn't it." Then, wearily: "Leave me alone, Wilson…" With that he simply hung up.

Wilson called him again.

House didn't answer the phone this time, but another minute later Wilson could hear uneven steps approaching. Finally, the door was pulled open aggressively. "What?!" Was all House greeted him with.

Wilson just stared at him for a moment, taking in the sight of the older man supporting himself on a pair of crutches.

"Uh…" Wilson fought to keep the concern out of his tone. "What's up?" He vaguely nodded towards the walking aid.

House turned away from the door, allowing the younger man entrance but not completely meeting his inquiring gaze. "Infarction. Thought you might have heard about it…"

Wilson couldn't help but roll his eyes at that. He hesitantly entered.

They awkwardly faced each other a moment, before Wilson lifted House's backpack a bit for demonstration. "Brought you something! – Wouldn't want you and your video games to grow apart too much after all…"

House nodded towards a spot right next to the door, simply ignoring the weak attempt at a joke. "Just… put it down somewhere." Then he reluctantly met Wilson's intent gaze. "Thanks."

Instead of answering, Wilson simply nodded towards the crutches again, clearly unwilling to just let this go. "So… What's with the crutches?" His tone was an odd mixture of curiosity and mild concern.

House just shrugged. "Nothing. Just giving the cane some rest…"

Wilson looked at him sharply at that. "Sure. This has everything to do with a piece of wood, and absolutely nothing with the fact that you can hardly move the leg lately, let alone bear a sufficient amount of weight on it." Voice dripping of sarcasm.

House nodded, an innocent look on his face. "Exactly."

When Wilson didn't reply anything immediately, he impatiently nodded towards his backpack. "That it? Or was there anything else you wanted…"

The oncologist frowned at the other man's unexpectedly rude behavior. Then he suddenly noticed the sweat on his forehead. A slight frown of concern settled on his face. "You feelin' okay…?"

House just jerked his head in a noncommittal way. "Fine, just… Need to sit." He embarrassedly looked away at the unexpected admission. Without waiting for a reply, he gingerly crutched his way over to the couch, sinking down on it without another word.

Wilson was still standing somewhat helplessly in the middle of the room, the frown on his face deepening by the minute.

"House…" He finally managed. "What's going on?"

No reply.

"Did you somehow… injure yourself? – Do you need to be checked out?"

House finally shook his head at that, replying almost harshly. "No!" Then, more quietly. "Just… – Nerve pain's pretty bad today." He gestured towards various pill bottles on his coffee table: Vicodin; Gabapentine; Ibuprofen.

"How much – "

House interrupted him, clearly impatient now, angrily spitting out the words. "Maxed out on all three."

For a moment, Wilson just looked at him dumbly, completely taken by surprise by the situation. "Do you – "

He was interrupted again. "Wilson! Will you just…" House shook his head somewhat defeatedly. "I'm not feelin' so hot right now. Just give me some space, okay?"

Wilson nodded slowly, still shocked, not saying anything for a minute. Then, quietly: "Since when have you been feeling so bad…?"

Just a shrug.

"Anything I can do?"

House started to wearily rub his forehead. "Don't think so…"

Wilson simply nodded again, once again uncertain how to handle the situation. That seemed to be happening a lot to him lately…

"So, I'll just… go then I guess. – Call me if you need anything."

He saw House close his eyes briefly, before giving a very small nod. He wasn't able to interpret the reaction.

When the older man didn't say anything more, he hesitantly turned around and left.


	4. July

**A/N: First of all, I'd like to ****quickly ****THANK everybody who's still reading; and _anitablakevampirehunter _(you really need a shorter nickname ;), _Aqua Mage_, _HouseAddict16_, _Eryaforsthye_, and _BSEVER _for also letting me know! :) You guys rock!  
**

* * *

**July**

He hadn't called. The following Monday, he had appeared at PPTH with just the cane again, apparently ready to once again face the working world. His gait appeared difficult, and he was walking more slowly than usual, but didn't allow any pain to show on his face.

The next couple of weeks passed relatively uneventfully. But the incident with House's 'sickness' had shown Wilson plastically just how separated their lives had become, and so he had decided to try and integrate his friend a bit more into his new relationship. To his surprise, House had actually accepted an invitation or two to join him and Amber for dinner at their place.

Mid-July, Wilson entered House's office again, casually sinking down in the chair opposite his friend's desk.

"Waited for you in the cafeteria…" Tone light, but slightly questioning.

House threw him just a cursory glance. "Yeah, well… Patient; dying; you know the drill…"

Wilson frowned at that. "I thought you had _diagnosed_ your patient…"

"Apparently not!" House continued thumping through the pages of some book.

Wilson kept his gaze on the other man, trying to come up with a reason for his unwillingness to leave his office. Eventually, only one explanation seemed to make sense. "Leg bothering you again?"

House just shrugged. "Where have you been the last decade? Leg's _always_ bothering me. – Just not hungry."

After years of friendship with the other man, Wilson didn't give up that easily. "Want me to bring something up for us?"

House rolled his eyes at that. "I told you: I'm not hungry! – Which part of that didn't make its way into your cerebral cortex?"

Nodding slowly, Wilson pushed himself to his feet again. "Kay then. – Tomorrow?"

Just a brief nod.

* * *

When Wilson was about to leave the clinic around 9 p.m. that same night, he saw that the light was still on in House's office. Which was odd, because House's team had finally solved their current case early that afternoon.

"House…?" Wilson quietly entered the room. His friend was lying on his recliner covered by his jacket, both legs up on the footrest. He had obviously fallen asleep while reading a medical journal, which was now lying on the floor next to the chair.

"House!" Wilson instinctively approached the other man, somewhat relieved when he immediately opened his eyes.

House eyed him questioningly, expression a mixture of tired and annoyed. "What."

"What the hell are you still doing here…?"

House snapped back. "Well, what the hell does it look like?!"

"Have you been sleeping here before?" Wilson was frowning openly by now.

House just closed his eyes again, more mumbling than speaking now. "Wouldn't know why that would be any of your business…"

Wilson kept his gaze fixed on his friend, concern filling the brown eyes. "House… What's going on with you?"

This time, House opened his eyes abruptly, angrily snapping at the other man. "I'm just trying to get some _rest_, Wilson! Why don't you just let me do that and go home to your _girlfriend_?!"

Wilson raised an eyebrow at that. "Is… _that_ what this is about??" He sounded incredulous. Somewhat hurt almost. "Does this have anything to do with me and Amber?!" His questioning gaze never left his friend's face.

"_This_…" House gingerly sat up, trying to hide a wince. "…is about _me_ trying to _sleep_! That's not really a crime suddenly, is it."

Wilson held both hands up shaking his head, this time determined to finish the discussion. "No, no, no… I'm not going away this time. This conversation is happening now, House. – I thought you were _okay_ with me and Amber." He sounded almost accusing; definitely puzzled. "You said – "

House interrupted him. He didn't need to hear it thrown back at him. "I know what I said, Wilson. I'm not senile yet." He awkwardly started to push himself to his feet, approaching the conference room, apparently intent on getting some space between himself and Wilson.

The younger man followed him, but stopped in the doorway connecting the two rooms. Staring at House's back, he frowned in an effort to make some sense of the situation. "You were the one who said I had made a good dating choice." He shook his head again. "I thought you approved of – "

House rolled his eyes, turning around to face Wilson again, impatience and irritation written all over his face. "What are you… 5?! I'm not your Dad. You don't need my approval for every girl you're hooking up with. Certainly didn't need my approval for your _17 marriages_! – And I didn't say I didn't approve of her. Of you. Whatever… - That's nowhere near the point."

Wilson was still staring at him. "So, what the hell _is_ the point? Help me out here, House, 'cause I really have _no_ idea! – What is it you expect from me?"

House spat out his reply: "I don't… _expect_… anything from you, Wilson. You can do whatever you want. – But the same goes for me... And I _want_ to _sleep_ now." Then he suddenly let his head hang, all tension suddenly leaving his body. He wearily rubbed his forehead for a moment. Then, gloomily: "Just go home, Wilson…"

* * *

Cuddy entered House's office early the next morning, whole posture screaming of exasperation. "What the hell are you doing, House?!"

He couldn't help but roll his eyes. Of course Wilson had gone running to Mommy…

"Don't know what you're talking about! And – oh wait, let me see…" He shrugged. "Don't care either!"

He tried to flee from the room, but Cuddy simply followed him. "You're not gonna outrun me, House. Like it or not, we will talk about this now."

House rolled his eyes at that, not slowing down in the slightest. "Or what? You gonna spank me…?"

Cuddy replied with an eye-roll of her own, muttering under her breath: "You wish…"

Then, in one quick move, she stepped directly into his path, forcing him to stop abruptly, if he didn't want to run into her head-on.

"Wilson doesn't understand what's going on, House. So for once…" She adopted her typical lecturing tone. "…go to his office…" She generously gestured into the respective direction. "…and _tell him_…!"

He lifted his head to meet her gaze, but then just shrugged, all playfulness gone. "Nothing to tell…!"

The lost look in his eyes almost broke Cuddy's heart. Her gaze softened considerably.

"House… You miss your friend. That's a _good_ thing. – It's normal. It's human."

House shifted his weight slightly, both hands now on the cane in front of his body, eyes going to the ceiling in apparent frustration. "I don't _miss_ him…"

The look on her face softened some more. "You hardly leave your office anymore, you're subdued, obviously not sleeping well, even more misanthropic than usual, and it's been a while since anybody has seen you eat something."

House had no problem connecting the dots and getting where she was heading. "I'm not depressed, Cuddy."

She simply continued: "The only other time I've ever seen you like this, was after Stacy had left."

This time, House looked annoyed. "I'm not _into_ Wilson."

The thought made Cuddy smile. "I didn't say you were. But he's a big part of your life. Which is right now missing." _And you're lost without it._ She knew better than to say the last part out loud...

"Go talk to him. Tell him you miss him. Tell him you'd still like to see him every once in a while. Tell him that you need him to make some more time for you…"

Anger flashed in House's eyes at that. "I'm not a goddamn charity case, Cuddy! He doesn't _need to make time for me_! – This is not how it works. It's not how _we _work…" He'd gone quiet again by the end of the outburst.

She didn't take her eyes off him, too acquainted with his impulsive reactions when things got too intense for him to be offended by his harsh tone.

"House. Just… forget your damn pride for once and go to him. You're still his friend; he's just a bit… distracted right now."

"I'm not gonna beg for his attention, Cuddy! And I'm certainly not gonna stand in his way. Not this time. Not when this might actually be his one chance to be…" He shrugged, but it somehow looked pained. "…happy."

He suddenly let out a pained half-laugh. "You know what he said when I told him Amber was..." He took a moment to find the right word. "…well as okay as they get? – He _marveled _at how his world could actually _expand_ now. At how he could finally connect on a long-term basis with someone that wasn't me! And you know what? He actually sounded _astonished_. As if it had always somehow been clear that his friendship with me meant _exclusiveness_ in a way... - And I don't want that, Cuddy. I don't wanna be the factor that constricts his life! – And I had absolutely no idea he was feeling that way. That he has desperately wanted more out of his life for all this time…"

That was probably the most intense and personal piece of information he had ever revealed to her. – She had absolutely no idea how to respond.

He finally just continued, a far away look on his face, not really talking to her anymore. "Yeah, I miss him. – But I don't want him to stick to this" _to stay with me_ "for the wrong reasons. I'm not gonna guilt him into this." Then he turned slightly towards her again, eyeing her fully for the first time since they had started talking. His expression was determined, voice calm but unyielding.

"I need you to stay out of this…"

* * *

tbc... :)


	5. August

**August**

Sometime in August, Wilson stuck his head into the diagnostic conference room, looking at the room's sole occupant questioningly, both eyebrows raised.

"House here?"

Kutner briefly met his gaze, something between a hesitant and an anxious look on his face.

Wilson frowned at that. "Is there something wrong? – I've got your patient's lab results…"

The younger man finally just nodded. "Okay; thanks."

When he seemed unable to fully return his gaze, Wilson's frown deepened. "What's wrong? – Where's House?!"

Kutner shook his head, apparently unsure of what to say. "He… I'm afraid there was sort of an… emergency. He needed to… you know… go." He nervously gestured into the general direction of the elevators.

"Dr Kutner…?" Wilson fixed him with a stern look, until the younger man sighed, replying in a somewhat resigned tone.

"He collapsed. - But…" He immediately held up a hand to forestall any panicked reaction Wilson might have produced. "…it doesn't seem to be so bad. Probably just the heat, coupled with some mild dehydration. – Foreman's right now making sure that it wasn't a stroke or another ischemic attack. But he's fully awake and aware now. Complaining and everything…" He managed a very small smile. "He didn't want us to tell you."

Wilson just wordlessly shook his head, trying not to appear as shocked as he was. "Where is he…"

Kutner looked towards the ground, apparently already anticipating the trouble this would get him into. "ER – Treatment room 2."

* * *

Wilson didn't bother knocking; he just angrily pushed the door open and entered the exam room, where Foreman was currently performing a neuro check on his boss.

House was even paler than he had been lately, but he was clearly conscious and fully aware of what was going on around him. When he spotted Wilson, he rolled his eyes in unhappy resignation. "Shouldn't you be holding some cancer kid's dying hand…?" He muttered almost angrily.

Not bothering with an answer, Wilson simply came to stand next to Foreman, quickly scanning the cardiac monitor and the pulse oximeter House had been hooked up to. Lastly, his eyes came to rest on the IV infusion that was currently stabilizing his friend.

Before he could say anything, the scene was interrupted by Chase entering the room, placing a bottle of Vicodin and a chart on one of the cupboards. He automatically took inventory of his ex-boss's current vital status. "Pressure's stabilizing…" He commented unnecessarily.

Foreman nodded. "Yeah, he's looking better. I just want to finish – "

He was rudely interrupted by the patient himself. "It wasn't a stroke, Foreman! Every idiot-first-year-medical-school-kid could tell that." He went on, seemingly forcing himself to patience: "No disorientation, no weakness or numbness, no dizziness now. No loss of balance or coordination, no language or cognitive dysfunction, no vision problems, all reflexes NAD. And: Blood-pressure was _down_ not _up_! Plus: Crappy skin turgor and delayed capillary refill should tip even _you_ to the obvious diagnosis: Dehydration! – I haven't been drinking enough, that's all. So why don't you stop all the fussing now and maybe take care of some of our _real_ patients…" But the outburst had cost him. He tiredly sank back on the gurney, one hand now rubbing his forehead.

Foreman swallowed every angry comment that might usually have escaped him in a fight with his boss. "Okay…" His tone was surprisingly calm, almost soothing. "You're right. It probably wasn't a stroke. I just wanted to make sure, alright? – And why don't we wait for those tests Cameron is running right now. Just to confirm your diagnosis and rule out that anything else is going on. Okay?"

House met his gaze, eventually giving a tired nod. Then he turned towards Wilson, who had been awfully quiet through all of this. "Aren't you late for something? – It's okay... I'll be fine."

Wilson returned his gaze a blank expression on his face, before wordlessly leaving the room.

On his way back he met up with Cameron, who was apparently just returning with House's test results.

Wilson eyed her wearily.

"So…?"

She gave him a small smile. "House was right. BUN's mildly elevated. Looks like it's really just some dehydration… – Labs also show a slight electrolyte imbalance. Everything else is looking good..."

Wilson exhaled in relief, nevertheless skimming over the numbers himself now. "His blood sugar's pretty low. Maybe it's his liver. He – "

She gently interrupted him. "You're right. We should get a liver profile, just in case. – But I'm sure he's fine… Blood sugar's not _that_ low."

When they re-entered the exam room together, they found House sitting on the gurney, legs dangling, obviously preparing to get up. The two younger doctors were standing close to him, Foreman's gaze on House's very pale face, Chase's eyes on the monitors, both of them looking somewhat tense.

The Australian finally spoke just when Wilson had closed the door behind himself. "Your pressure's not stable. Lie back down…" He gently but firmly pushed House back into a supine position, giving him time to support his bad leg with a hand under his knee.

"He's probably still dehydrated…" Cameron approached the gurney, handing the test results over to House. "We should continue the IV fluids for a while; see if that helps…"

Nodding towards the test results, Foreman looked at her questioningly. "Anything else?"

She replied with a small shrug. "Electrolytes are somewhat messed up, but nothing to explain the fainting." She turned towards their 'patient' again. "Have you eaten anything today?"

When no verbal response was coming, they exchanged meaningful glances.

Chase wordlessly reattached the infusion.

House only now seemed to notice that Wilson had returned with Cameron. "What are _you_ still doing here? I told you, I'll be _fine_!"

The oncologist smiled mildly at him. "Yeah, you did. I think it won't surprise you though, that those words out of your mouth have lost a lot of their meaning over the years... - I've cancelled my appointments for the day."

An hour later, House managed to get to his feet again, still pale and slightly shaky, but upright and walking.

Wilson watched him carefully, unable to completely suppress a frown of concern. "Come on, House… Let's get you home."

* * *

As soon as they were back at his apartment, House went straight to his couch and Wilson went into the kitchen. He was used to his friend's somewhat one-sided diet, but this time his fridge was virtually empty. The cupboards, too, were stocked extremely minimalistically. All Wilson could eventually come up with was some canned corn, two jars of tomato sauce, and some spaghetti, whose expiration date was rapidly approaching.

From the doorway, he calmly addressed House who was by now apathetically zapping through the TV channels. "Feel like pasta?"

The older man just shrugged. "Not hungry, but I figure that won't stop you, so… Pasta's as good as anything."

Wilson's face hardened. "House. You've just spent the last _three hours_ in the ER because you forgot to eat and drink today! You _passed out_ from dehydration and probably low blood sugar! And you're seriously telling me you're not hungry?!" Wilson held up a hand to interrupt House before he could even open his mouth to respond. "Wait! I don't care… I'm going to cook and you're going to eat. Period."

When House sat up to actually have some dinner with Wilson, he stopped mid-movement abruptly holding his breath.

Wilson frowned at that. "What is it…?"

When House just shook his head dismissively, moving very carefully but sitting up all the way, Wilson's frown deepened. "House. What is it." His voice was stern now. "Did you hurt anything from the fall?"

The older man shook his head again. "Just a bruise…"

Wilson hesitantly handed him his plate. "Where."

"Knee. But it's fine; let it go already…"

They had dinner together in uneasy silence. House didn't even finish half of what Wilson had served him.

"Thanks. That wasn't so bad…" His tone was almost apologetic.

Wilson sighed, his expression softening considerably. "You're welcome. But, House." He waited until his friend met his gaze. "You need to start eating more. You can't go on like this." Then, more tentatively: "Is it the meds?"

House rolled his eyes at his friend's assumption. "No…"

Wilson was still looking at him. "The pain…?"

House simply shook his head. "Appetite's just not the best right now…"

That earned him an incredulous look. "Your appetite's not good enough for one meal a day?!"

Another eye-roll. "I had a meal today."

Wilson couldn't help but snort at that. "Yeah. One I practically forced down your throat."

When House didn't return anything, he continued more gently: "If you don't feel like cooking, or like ordering in all the time, just let me know! You know I'm always happy to have an excuse for cooking…"

After a moment of silence, Wilson deliberately walked into his friend's line of sight, fixing him with a serious gaze. "And I wanna take a look at your knee, House. It obviously hurt you to just sit up. Who knows what kind of damage you've actually done…"

To the other man's hesitation, he simply gestured somewhat impatiently towards House's right leg. "Come on. The quicker you pull up your pants, the quicker this'll be over. – I'm not going away, House…" He finally reminded him.

That seemed to do the trick, since the older man now pulled his right pant leg up, eyes going towards the ceiling in obvious frustration. He carefully lifted the leg back up onto the couch to give Wilson better access, trying to suppress a wince when straightening it caused a sharp sting of pain.

Sitting down on the edge of the couch, Wilson grimaced slightly in commiseration as soon as he caught sight of the bruised and swollen knee. A large hematoma had already formed on the lateral part of the kneecap, extending down towards the upper part of the shin. He gently probed the injury for a while, before very carefully bending the leg slightly and then straightening it again. He finally locked eyes with his friend, who had remained stoically silent through all of this.

"I think it's just a contusion. But it looks like it's still swelling. – This won't be any fun to walk on; at least for a couple of days…" To House's admonishing glance, he quickly amended: "Well, even less fun than usual…"

House just shrugged. "I think I'll live. – At least it'll distract me from the rest of the leg for a while…"

Wilson rolled his eyes at the typical comment, then went to the kitchen again to get a cool pack. When he gently placed it on the injury and carefully fixed it in place with a loosely wound bandage, he calmly stated without taking his eyes off his task: "I'm gonna stay over tonight."

House immediately shook his head. "That's not necessary, Wilson. I'm fine now…"

Wilson simply nodded, carefully placing the leg onto one of the couch pillows to keep it slightly elevated. "That's great. But I'm still staying."

When House continued to eye him unhappily, he rolled his eyes, hands now going to his hips. "House. You _collapsed_ today. For some as of yet not fully known reason. – I know that you're feeling better now, but I don't want you to be alone tonight… So, unless you can come up with the energy to actually bodily throw me out of here, I'm staying."

House finally replied with a small shrug. "Why? I'll just be sleeping anyway…"

Wilson just nodded again. "Good. Since I don't plan on actually sharing a bed with you, my being here shouldn't bother you then…"

Before House even had a chance to say anything more, he gestured towards the phone. "I'll just let Amber know…"

A minute later, House could hear him talking softly on the phone. He couldn't make out the exact words, but it was clear that the discussion became more heated by the end of the call. When Wilson returned to the living room, he looked tense.

"Uh oh… Trouble in paradise?"

Wilson threw him a short glance, shaking his head slightly. "No, it's… just not really good timing. But it's fine. I explained it and she understood. - It's fine…"

House innocently raised an eyebrow. "Well, then maybe you should just – "

He was interrupted by the younger man, whose tone was uncharacteristically sharp now. "I'm staying, House; end of discussion. You scared the crap out of me, today…" Slightly embarrassed by the admission, he automatically reached up to rub the tense muscles in the back of his neck.

After a moment of silence, he continued much more gently. "And now shut up for once, and just let me reassure myself for a couple of hours and enjoy the company of your living, breathing body."

House stared at him for a long moment, before replying with a small shrug. "Sure. Don't mind me…"

They sat in silence for a while, the sounds emanating from the TV providing a comforting background noise. Both of them felt themselves slowly relax after a while, the stress of the last couple of hours finally abating.

When Wilson returned from the bathroom another hour or so later, he was suddenly very quiet. He finally spoke again without taking his eyes off the show he had not at all been following the last couple of minutes.

"I haven't seen that shower chair in ages."

From his peripheral vision, he could see House turn his head slightly to look at him. He seemed to hesitate briefly, but then just returned casually: "Maybe because you haven't been here _in ages_…"

True. Now that he thought about it, he had actually not been here for at least a couple of months! Except for his one brief visit, when Cuddy had sent him… This was not what mattered right now though.

"So… How long have you been using it?"

House rolled his eyes at that. "I'm a cripple, Wilson. A shower chair shouldn't really shock you that much…"

"Except that you haven't needed one since 6 months after the infarction."

"Well, I'm not getting any younger."

"Oh, that's just bullshit, House. – If your leg has been getting so much worse, you need to do something about it."

Then, a mixture of a desperate and a resigned undertone in his voice: "You really need to start taking better care of yourself, House." He shook his head. "It's not like you to just let it go on like this..."

Wilson suddenly felt his friend's eyes resting on him.

After a minute of slightly uneasy silence, House gave one brisk nod, before carefully pushing himself to his feet. Then he turned towards the younger man again, locking eyes with him.

"You're right. – Night, Wilson."

Wilson watched House turn around and head towards his bedroom. He was frowning slightly in mild confusion.

"Night, House."

* * *

tbc...

A/N: Yeah, I know... Most blood tests take longer than just an hour or so. Please excuse this and any other medical inaccuracies that might have caught your eye. I'm not a medic, and I've also adapted some things for the sake of the story... :) Thanks for reading!


	6. September

**September**

As much as he hated to admit it, Wilson – for once – was right. It couldn't go on like this. And it _wasn't _like him to simply go down without a fight… He was a doctor for Christ's sake! If he were his own patient, no matter the rest of the circumstances, he wouldn't hesitate a second about what would have to be done.

Three things were the most vital.

First, he'd get himself on an antidepressant; second, he'd check out some PT; third, he'd ignore his damned pride for just this once and invite Wilson over for… dinner. Drinks. Whatever.

It wasn't as if the other man was still in the early, most fragile stage of his relationship anymore after all... He could afford a night out with a friend. He was sure of it. – And Wilson had already asked _him_ a couple of times, at least to have the occasional lunch together. So he probably wanted to see him as well.

_Or_ he'd just had a bad conscience…

No, those were depressive thoughts. He'd ask him to come. Period.

The antidepressant had turned out to be the easy part.

He'd gone to Cuddy, of course, informing her that he wanted to try supplementing his pain management with an SSRI from now on; not unreasonable. And that he didn't want Wilson to know, because he didn't want to provoke another bout of mother hen affections; not too unreasonable either. - If she had noticed that he had asked her to write for a dosage that was very rarely used for pain control, and much more suitable for some sort of _mood_ control, she hadn't shown it…

PT had been hell.

The initial assessment alone had been painful to a degree that reminded him once again, why he had forgone all efforts of physical rehabilitation for the last 5 years. The bruise he had sustained on his knee and the pain in his shoulder, that had once again been escalating lately, hadn't helped matters at all...

The first real session a couple of days later had shown him plastically just how bad off he really was, physically, right now. They'd had to interrupt the session more than once, because the pain had actually been severe enough to evoke several acute bouts of nausea. Afterwards, he'd barely made it out of the PT room and to a nearby chair in the waiting area, where he'd been trembling with fatigue and pain for over an hour, before he'd had regained enough of his strength to try and make his way home.

As for the Wilson part of the plan: It had worked out surprisingly well so far… He'd worked up all his courage during several mind-numbingly boring hours of clinic duty, after which he'd simply strode into the other man's office, declaring that he'd be free Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday this week. Anything to not make the invitation sound like the desperate plea it probably was…

Wilson had actually seemed pleasantly surprised. Had raised both eyebrows in typical Wilson manner, but smiled a little and countered that that would fit perfectly, because he was definitely free on Thursday. They had finished with the usual 'I bring pizza you bring beer' debate and now here he was, Gregory House, ridiculously nervous while waiting for his oldest friend to join him at his apartment.

When he actually caught himself nervously repositioning a bowl of crackers, which he had placed on the coffee table earlier, he would almost have laughed at himself. As it was, he forced himself to stop the ridiculous action and seriously contemplated getting rid of the crackers again. It wasn't as if he had ever prepared snacks for any of his guests before, least of all Wilson. So why start with it now…

Apropos preparations: He had decided to stow away both the crutches he still kept at his apartment and the offending shower chair in one of his large closets, hoping to avoid any further discussion of his recently somewhat fragile health. He also desperately needed to avoid drawing any more attention than absolutely necessary to anything even remotely resembling vulnerability or weakness at the moment.

Tonight wasn't going to be about any of those things. Tonight, he planned on simply enjoying some spare time with the man he still couldn't bring himself to consider anything else but his best friend. And maybe they could even revive some of the natural companionship that had always been such a characteristic part of their friendship.

He was abruptly pulled from his thoughts by the loud ringing of his cell phone.

Wilson.

He tried to ignore the irrational uneasy feeling that immediately started to grow in the pit of his stomach.

In retrospect, he didn't even remember much of the following conversation. Something about Amber. And a dinner appointment Wilson had somehow forgotten about.

House also thought he remembered that Wilson had apologized. Said it wasn't like him to cancel at such short notice, and that he hoped House knew that and wouldn't hold it against him.

As if that even mattered.

As if he would have made any important other plans otherwise…

But he had definitely apologized. And maybe House would be free some time next week instead? – He didn't even remember what he had actually replied to that one… Had he even replied anything at all?

What he did remember was Wilson's obvious uneasiness. His awkward explanation of how the situation was difficult enough right now, and that he just couldn't do this. Couldn't let her hang like that. And he hoped House understood…

He also remembered pain. But whether the pain had come from the damned cramping in the remnants of his damned thigh muscle, that had started in the middle of his attempt to move the shower chair back into place, or from some other part of his body he wasn't comfortable letting himself contemplate, he couldn't tell now.

All he _clearly_ remembered after the phone call was the bottle of Maker's Mark that had been his company for the rest of the evening. He had briefly thought of the South Pole psychiatrist he had treated last year and of self-treatment and insomnia, and of his liver and the Vicodin and the damned SSRI, but then he had simply given in to what he didn't even know and drowned half the bottle in less than ten minutes.

After that, he just remembered floating and numbness and the absence of loneliness.

And exhaustion.

He'd been so exhausted, so incredibly tired; of his leg and his job and this fucking apartment, and the pain and the doubts and the self-pity he could hardly bear to acknowledge; tired of patients and colleagues and the ducklings and the _new_ ducklings and of Wilson and this whole goddamn complicated situation; tired of his pride and his weakness and the dependency he just hadn't put an end to soon enough. The trust he had placed in… people… against his own better judgment. Against all logic. Against experience…

When he finally woke up from a barely restful, drug- and alcohol-induced sleep hopefully the next morning, he still felt exhausted, but the terrifying thoughts from the night before had faded. Had been safely concealed again behind walls of protection and learned indifference.

He felt sick and sore and he hated himself for feeling disappointed as well, but he also felt better.

Numb in the places that mattered.

Ready to face what passed as his life again.

Ready to just… continue.

* * *

**Tbc… :)**


	7. October

**A/N: So... We're about half way through, guys! Thanks to everyone who's still reading and thank you all for your comments. They really keep me going... :) Here's the next part - enjoy!  
**

* * *

**October**

"You okay…?"

House hadn't even heard the hospital doors open and fall close behind himself, but he did his best not to appear startled by her sudden appearance. He didn't turn his head to look at Cuddy, who had come to stand next to him, following his gaze into the cold, quiet night.

The snow had started falling over an hour ago, and by now the ground was covered by slick layers of fresh on top of already half-melted snow. Right now, the passage didn't look appealing even for an able-bodied person…

Realizing she was apparently still waiting for an answer, he gave a small shrug. "Sure. Just taking a moment to admire the beginnings of yet another winter…!"

Cuddy actually smiled slightly at that. "A poetic streak. You never cease to amaze me, House…"

When he returned nothing but a weak half-snort, she let her gaze rest on him for a moment.

"You need a ride?"

He didn't take his eyes off the falling snow. "Got my car here; thanks…"

Cuddy rolled her eyes at that. "I know you have. – So why are you just standing here like that? You're starting to look like Frosty the Snowman's grouchy old brother…" She saw one side of his mouth quirk up slightly at the image.

When he didn't reply anything, she finally suggested: "Come on. Let's conquer this hazard together…" The words were teasing, but the look on her face was soft. She playfully held her slightly bent right arm out, waiting for him to link arms with her.

Which he eventually did, but not without sending her a sideways glance that clearly stated he was doing this just to indulge her...

When they started to make their way across the parking lot, he felt her tightening her hold on his arm slightly. His first instinct was to pull away from her at that, feeling the sudden urge to demonstrate that he didn't need her support. But then he simply allowed himself to lean into the contact, just for a moment, relishing the unexpected warmth that was radiating off her.

When they had reached his car, she gently patted his arm in parting.

"See you tomorrow, House."

He scrunched his face up in mock disappointment. "What… No parting kiss?"

She just smiled at him. "Nice try. – See you tomorrow, House."

Turning around to open his car door, he grumbled just loud enough for her to hear. "Spoil sport…"

"Sorehead," she retorted immediately.

He got into his car, almost smiling a little, turning his head slightly to look at her again. "Night, Cuddy."

She simply nodded her head, locking eyes with him. "Night, House."

* * *

When Chase entered the PT gym, House barely looked up at him.

"I told the idiot _not _to call anyone…"

Undeterred by the harsh greeting, Chase calmly approached his former boss, who was right now sitting on one of the benches tensely rubbing his bad leg, just like one of the PT assistants had told him. "Yeah, he mentioned that."

He came to stand right in front of House. "And he didn't call me. He ran into me on his way out and thought he'd just let someone know. Apparently, he was worried you'd be officially reported missing at some point otherwise..." He kept his eyes on the other man, even though House apparently had no intention of looking back at him at some point... "Which you could actually have _avoided_, if you'd simply let him give you a hand."

When House didn't reply anything, Chase slowly crouched down in front of him, a no-nonsense look on his face now.

"So… What's going on."

He immediately noticed the light sheen of sweat on House's pale face, his heavier than usual breathing.

"Nothing. I just need a moment. – And I'd appreciate not being bothered every five seconds…!"

Chase couldn't help but roll his eyes at that. "Wonder why he told me you've been sitting here for the past three _hours_ then…" Tone sarcastic.

Then, clinically: "So, let's try again... Muscles or nerves?"

House still didn't meet his gaze, but finally replied though gritted teeth, shaking his head slightly. "It's just some cramping…"

Chase eyed him a moment longer, before wordlessly getting to his feet again and leaving the room.

He returned though, about ten minutes later, carrying a bottle of what looked like a mineral drink in one hand, and a heat pad in the other. He also had a small medical bag slung over his shoulder.

When House didn't look up at him, he brought the drink into his line of sight. "Here; try some of this."

The older man predictably rolled his eyes at that, but eventually did as he was told, probably because he just didn't have that many options right now...

When he had finished about half the bottle, Chase held up the heat pad slightly. "We should try warming the muscle. See if that helps…" He nodded towards a large gym mat just a few feet away from them. "You should lie down for that. – Think you can move enough to do that?"

House seemed to consider it for a moment, briefly glancing at the mat, before finally giving a clipped nod.

He accepted Chase's support in getting to a shaky stance, before hopping a step and carefully lowering himself onto the mat.

Chase indicated for him to bend his good leg in the knee and pushed a flat pillow under his head. Then he carefully helped House to stretch his painful leg out completely, before gently wrapping the heat pad around the obviously still cramping thigh.

"You should let them know when they're working the leg too hard…" He didn't look at the other man, instead busying himself with grabbing a second pillow and carefully pushing it under House's right knee to take some strain off the thigh musculature.

He was actually surprised when House answered him. "Didn't think it was too much…"

Chase nodded slowly, eyes still on the leg. "Heat feel good or bad…?"

A brief moment of silence; then, quietly: "Good."

Chase now glanced at him briefly, nodding towards the medical bag he had brought. "If it's not enough, just let me know. I've brought a muscle relaxant; just in case…"

30 minutes later, House looked markedly more relaxed. He finally pushed himself into a sitting position again, before carefully moving a bit until he was able to lean back against the bench. He took another sip of the mineral drink.

Chase, who had been sitting on the bench for a while now, nodded towards House's leg, even though the other man could probably not even see him properly from his current position. "Feel any better?"

House closed his eyes, relaxing back against the bench. "A lot better actually…"

Chase eyed him pensively for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was still remarkably neutral. "You've been looking pretty shitty lately… You got everything under control?"

Surprised by the unusually blunt comment, House abruptly opened his eyes again. He slowly turned towards the younger man, ready to brush him off.

Something about the look on Chase's face stopped him though.

He finally just nodded once. "Yeah. I think so…"

Then he slowly started to push himself to his feet, throwing Chase another short glance. "Gotta get this thing moving again…" He vaguely indicated his leg.

Nodding slightly, Chase stood up as well, unobtrusively keeping an eye on the other man.

The leg seemed to progressively loosen up on their way towards the clinic exit, and by the time they had reached the doors, House was walking more or less normally again.

Pushing the entrance door open, Chase suddenly stopped walking, turning slightly to look at the other man. "Wanna go grab some dinner…?" He didn't smile, but the look on his face was very relaxed. A bit hopeful almost…

House eyed him incredulously for a moment, until Chase rolled his eyes. "Don't look so shocked. I'm not asking you out on a _date_… Just some food. - I'll even pay…"

House snorted at that, but then his expression suddenly shifted. He kept his gaze on the younger man for a long moment, before a finally replied with a small shrug. "Why not… But no whining about skyrocketing lobster prices afterwards."

Chase smirked slightly at that, pushing the door open all the way now, waiting for House to step outside. "Right… If I'm paying, I get to choose the place."

House responded with his trademark eye-roll. "Fine. But just so you know: I don't eat koala…"

* * *

**Tbc… :)  
**


	8. November

**November**

Shortly before Thanksgiving, House called in sick again. This time, Wilson paid him a visit at home on the second night.

He heard his friend long before he saw him; for a man who practically ate hydrocodone for breakfast (and lunch and dinner…), he sure had a forceful cough reflex.

"You look like shit," was the first thing Wilson heard himself say, as soon as House had opened the door for him.

Apparently unimpressed by the unconventional greeting, House immediately turned around again, heading for the couch.

"That's okay. – Feel like shit..."

Wilson eyed him critically for a moment, definitely not pleased with what he saw. House had a fever; that much was obvious. He also looked extremely pale; and completely exhausted. No surprise really…

"You on antibiotics?" Wilson came to stand somewhat helplessly in the middle of the room.

House just vaguely moved his head. "Just called in a prescription…"

Wilson suddenly noticed how shallow the other man's breathing really was. His eyes fell on the stethoscope House had apparently left on the coffee table at some point; probably had examined himself earlier...

He nodded towards the item. "May I?"

When House just shrugged, he sat down next to him, preparing to listen to the other man's chest. "Lean a bit forward for me…" He started to auscultate his friend's back, slightly concerned by just how _warm_ he seemed to be.

"Okay, lean back again…" He was frowning openly by now. "Deep breath…" House tried to comply but fell into another fit of coughing.

Hesitantly letting go off his friend, Wilson slowly sat back again.

"You're not moving air well on the right side. And there are some rales…"

House nodded. "I know. Hence the antibiotic!"

Wilson apparently wasn't satisfied by that. "Could be pneumonia."

Another nod. "Could also be something called a _chest cold_. - Why don't we go with door number two for now…"

But despite his tough words, Wilson could tell how lousy he was feeling. He now reluctantly leaned back into the sofa cushions, tiredly closing his eyes.

When Wilson didn't say anything for a minute or two, House slowly opened his eyes again. "What… You just gonna sit there and stare at me for the rest of the night?"

Wilson minutely shook his head, face a mask of concern. "You're looking bad, House. – How about you stay at our place for a couple of days… Just until you're feeling a bit better."

The older man snorted at that. "I'm sure Amber'd be delighted! - Big holiday coming up, remember?! I'm sure you've got all sorts of exciting plans..." Voice dripping of sarcasm.

When Wilson didn't reply anything, which was as good as a verbal confirmation, he waved his hand dismissively. "I'll be fine, Wilson... Relax."

Of course, Wilson hadn't really expected his friend to take him up on the offer. And it would have _been_ awkward to explain this to Amber, but still…

"Okay… – Do you need anything?"

Just a shake of the head.

"You should go a little easy on the Vicodin for now…"

House raised both eyebrows at that. "You think I don't know that?! I'm a doctor too, remember?" He sounded positively pissed, even in his complete exhaustion.

A slow nod. "Okay then. – Call me if you need anything…"

* * *

He hadn't heard anything from House the next day or the day after. That night, he still decided to pay him another visit. Even if House didn't need him, at least it gave him an excuse to avoid another pointless fight with Amber over Thanksgiving dinner preparations or something equally trivial for the time being…

This time, House didn't open the door for him. He also didn't answer any of his phones, even though both his motorcycle and his car were parked outside in front of the building.

When Wilson finally decided to use his spare key – just in case – he loudly announced what he was doing.

"House?! I'm coming in now… If you wanna be left in peace, you should consider actually _answering_ any of your phones every now and then…"

The apartment appeared to be empty. At least, Wilson had never found it this quiet before… House was not on his favorite spot on the couch, and the TV was – for once – turned off.

With a slight sense of trepidation, he approached his friend's bedroom.

"House…?" He carefully pushed the door open, almost a little afraid suddenly of what he would find. Sure, House hadn't called him, which he had told him to do in case he needed anything, but with this most _stubborn _of men you never knew…

"What…" The hoarsely uttered word was followed by a bout of suppressed coughing.

The evening sun was still providing enough light for Wilson to make out his friend's form on the bed. He still looked very sick, pale and sweaty, and he seemed to be trembling slightly.

Wilson couldn't help but frown in concern. "Feeling worse?"

House just shrugged slightly, closing his eyes for a moment. "Just tired…"

Wilson now slowly approached the bed, trying to get a better look at the other man.

"How's your temperature?" He couldn't see a thermometer anywhere near.

"I'd guess _elevated_." At least the snark was still firmly in place it seemed…

Another bout of suppressed coughing followed the barb.

"You shouldn't try to keep that in, you know…"

House rolled his eyes at that. "Geez, wonder where…" He paused briefly, taking a shallow breath. "…you might've learned _that _one…"

Wilson's frown deepened when he noticed how much worse House seemed today. "Have you taken the antibiotic?" He could tell that he sounded almost a bit accusing now.

"Nope. Ordered it…," another careful intake of breath, "…just for the fun of it!"

Wilson was still eyeing him critically. "Have you been up at all today?!"

The reply came at once: "You smell any pee on me…?!" Technically, not an answer...

House continued with an almost resigned undertone. "I'm fine, Wilson; or at least I will be. – Just go home, okay…?"

Wilson stared at him for a moment, before shaking his head slightly, hesitating.

House was right. What exactly had he planned to do anyway? Sit by his bedside to keep him company? House obviously wasn't in the mood for it… And he couldn't stay the night to monitor his friend's condition and quench his own uneasiness either, because he'd promised Amber he'd only be gone an hour or so. And the last thing he needed right now was to add any more ammunition to the burning arsenal... He wouldn't repeat the mistakes he had already made so many times in the past; not this time. - But he didn't really want to just leave his friend like this either...

He finally conceded, still a bit reluctantly: "Okay. – Anything I can get you while I'm here?"

House briefly met his gaze, before turning his head slightly to the side, an odd mixture of embarrassment and annoyance clouding his expression. "Just… Some water would be great."

When Wilson returned with a glass of water and a small bowl of crackers he had found in the kitchen, House had turned onto his left side and was right now coughing almost violently into a small towel. It was a deep, hoarse cough that left him gasping slightly for breath afterwards.

Wilson now shook his head determinedly. "You can hardly breathe, House…" He could hear the frustration in his own voice. "You've obviously been getting worse. – You need to get a chest x-ray. And I really don't think you should be alone right now..."

He seemed to be thinking for a moment, obviously fighting with himself over something, before he started to rub the back of his neck in a gesture that couldn't have screamed discomfort more loudly.

"Maybe we should just… call one of the ambulant nurses in. To help you out a bit for a couple of days..." He shrugged, knowing his next suggestion probably wouldn't be received very well. "Or we could simply admit you for a day or two. Just so someone has an eye on you for now…"

House abruptly looked up at him at that, his expression – for once – completely unguarded. Amazingly, Wilson couldn't read the expression quickly enough. It might have been surprise; or hurt; or it just might have been resignation...

Then, with what seemed like an effort, House produced something that might have been a pained half-laugh, if he'd had a little more control over his breathing right now…

"Get the fuck out of here, Wilson…"

"House…" He immediately attempted to pacify his friend. "I just think – "

"Don't wanna hear it!"

This time, the dismissal lit a spark of anger in Wilson as well. He allowed himself to feel it for just a moment, and then suddenly all of the pent-up frustration was pouring out of him.

"Sure, House. You know what? For all I care, you can drown in your own fluids!" He shook his head slightly. "I don't know why anyone should continue to constantly worry about your well-being, when you yourself so obviously don't give a damn..." Then: "You wanna just sit this out? Lie in your bed and keep getting worse?" He shrugged, face hard in barely controlled anger. "Fine. Self-destruct! Dismiss your own symptoms!" He nodded in the general direction of House's leg. "After all, that's worked out _real_ well for you before, hasn't it…" The moment he heard his own words, he instantly wished he could just take them back.

But it was too late. House's expression darkened.

Then he fixed Wilson with a steely glance, voice dangerously calm.

"Get. Out."

He sounded breathless now, whether from anger or lack of oxygen, Wilson couldn't tell…

He wanted to say something. Tell House he hadn't meant it; that he was just frustrated, and confused, and overwhelmed by the whole situation. But the moment he opened his mouth to say something, _anything_ to make things between them a little more right again, House already cut him off.

"Now!"

It was the first time he had raised his voice tonight.

When the front door fell shut behind him, Wilson closed his eyes in a brief flash of despair, wondering when in all the world everything around him had started going downhill like this... And what he could have done to prevent it. - And he actually found himself praying, for the first time in years. That this was just him developing a mental illness; paranoia; anything! Because this fleeting feeling he had in this very moment simply couldn't be real. There was just _no way _that he was right now, slowly, inevitably, losing the only two people in his life he truly, deeply loved.

**tbc...**

* * *

**A/N: A bit melodramatic, I know... - Must be hormonal imbalance on my part; or something... ;) Thank you for reading! **


	9. December

**A/N: Hey guys :) I'm aware that this must seem to be "dragging on" towards some kind of rock bottom, with relatively little / slow development in between. Unfortunately, human relations often behave that way, at least in my experience, especially when new situations cause unknown territory for everyone involved… That's part of what I wanted to write about. ****– If you're nevertheless still not bored: Have fun with the next part! ;) And thanks for letting me know what you think. It's kind of painful to write really…**

* * *

**December **

In spite of their brief fight the night he had visited House at home, Wilson had invited the other man over for Thanksgiving dinner a few days later. Of course, his friend had stubbornly refused to answer his phone – again – but Wilson had left him a message, hopefully in a tone apologetic enough to convey that he really was sorry and that he genuinely wanted him to come.

But House hadn't come.

Not that Wilson had really expected him to forget his stubborn pride for once and just follow an invitation he couldn't know the real motives for. If House so much as vaguely assumed that something could have been done out of compassion, guilt, or worse yet pity, he sure as hell wouldn't risk giving anybody the chance to act on any of those unacceptable sentiments.

So, when House didn't show up, it wasn't entirely unexpected, but it still sent a stab of regret through Wilson's heart. – This was actually the first Thanksgiving in eight years they didn't spend together, one way or another…

Wilson had taken the next ten days off to spend with Amber and two of her friends in their weekend cabin up in the Catskills. So he was surprised to recognize Cuddy's number on his cell phone in the middle of his vacation.

"Hey, Cuddy! What's up…"

"Hi, Wilson… Hope you're enjoying your vacation?"

"Yeah! Yeah; it's good. – Is there something wrong?"

"I… went to see House yesterday. – I had him admitted." When Wilson didn't reply anything immediately, she added a little uncertainly: "I thought you should know..."

"What… Yeah! Of course. – What happened?"

She could hear him sitting down.

"Pneumonia. He was in pretty rough shape when I found him... Apparently hadn't left his bed in days. – He… wasn't breathing well. Slightly hypoxic even. I had no choice but to bring him to the clinic…"

After a very brief pause, she gently continued. "I had him admitted to Princeton General, because he refused to come here. – I know you're not in Princeton right now; but I thought you might wanna go see him as soon as you're back. – He's really not doing very well..."

Wilson was still too shocked to think properly. He couldn't even decide whether he mostly felt panic or guilt at the moment...

"But he's not… They have it under control, right?"

She hesitated very briefly. "He'll be fine. – But he's pretty sick right now. He's just too stubborn for his own good sometimes…"

Wilson snorted somewhat bitterly at that. "Yeah, well. I _knew_ he was sick. I should have done something."

"He's… a grown man, Wilson. It wasn't your fault." He noticed that she wasn't as enthusiastic as she usually would have been in her reassurance...

Wilson hesitated briefly. Then: "We'll be back in a couple of days. – You'll be keeping an eye on him for now, right…?"

For some reason, Cuddy suddenly felt tears filling her eyes. She forced herself to keep her composure. "Of course. – But he'll be happy to see you…"

Wilson closed his eyes briefly, unsure how to reply. He finally shook his head slightly. "Thanks for… letting me know."

* * *

"Hey…" Wilson slowly approached his friend's bed, hesitantly sitting down in the visitor's chair.

House calmly met his gaze. "Hey…"

Even five days after Cuddy's call, he was still incredibly pale, a nasal cannula still supporting his oxygen supply.

Wilson carefully looked him over, almost fearful of what he would see. "How are you feeling…?"

House nodded once. "Better." When the anxious expression didn't really leave his friend's face at that, he reluctantly added: "I'm fine now, Wilson. It's okay…"

"You wouldn't be here, if you were fine." Then, almost carefully: "May I see your chart?"

House seemed to consider that for a moment, but then just shrugged, casually gesturing towards the foot of the bed.

Wilson carefully studied the chart for a couple of minutes.

When he had placed it in its holder again, he eyed House with a strange expression, before slowly sitting down again.

A brief moment of silence; then: "145?" Tone incredulous. "Jesus, House! When have you lost all that weight?!"

House just shrugged again, closing his eyes and turning his head slightly to the side.

Wilson silently regarded him for a minute, before he finally spoke again. "When can you go home?"

House reluctantly met his gaze again at that. "Soon as I can get rid of this thing…" He vaguely gestured towards the nasal cannula. Another shrug. "With a little luck tomorrow."

When Wilson just nodded, leaning back in his chair slightly and closing his eyes as well now, House eyed him with a frown. "How was your trip?"

Just a nod. "Fine; it was… fine."

He heard House snort at that. "Convincing."

Wilson resolutely kept his eyes closed, hating the resignation in his own voice. "Yeah. I know…"

A couple of minutes later, House's attending physician broke the silence by entering the room. He smiled slightly at Wilson, before picking up his patient's chart and starting to write something down. When he finally looked up again to meet House's gaze, his expression was unreadable.

"The nurses tell me you're still not eating well!" Apparently, this had been under some kind of debate before. House just rolled his eyes in response, causing the younger medic to sigh. "Dr House… You're at least 10 pounds underweight."

House's gaze turned hard at that. "I've been sick."

The other man nodded, holding his gaze unflinchingly. "I've noticed. – But you're getting better now. I want you to start eating again."

"I _am_ eating!" Angrily. – At least, Wilson noticed, he seemed to be having his voice and most of his breath back…

A brief moment of silence; then the other medic spoke again, voice calm but undoubtedly determined. "I want you to have a nice dinner tonight, a good breakfast and lunch tomorrow. If you don't manage to eat enough for my taste _and_ keep it down, I won't even consider letting you go home."

House didn't even blink. "You can't force me to stay here. If you don't release me, I'll simply sign out AMA."

"I can, if I think you're harming yourself."

House snorted at that. "I'm not _harming_ myself. – And you won't find a shrink who says I do."

"I think you're depressed."

"And I think you're an ass."

The younger doctor briefly closed his eyes at that. "Listen, Dr House... I'm on your side here." His voice had softened considerably again. "But you're in pretty rough shape right now. You really need to start taking a little more care of yourself..."

House apparently forced himself to patience. "Yes! I know. I got that. You'd think the _tube_ in my nose might have tipped me off!" He still sounded agitated, but the sharpness in his tone was gone. "I'll eat whatever you want, okay?"

The other man smiled slightly at that. "Okay! Good. – I guess I can't convince you of some antidepressants, too?"

_Been there, done that… _

Not bothering with a verbal reply, and unwilling to volunteer the information anyway, House simply threw him a stony glance.

Apparently unsurprised, the other man finally just nodded. "Okay then. I'll see you tomorrow." He briefly glanced at Wilson again, before turning to leave the room.

As soon as the door had closed behind him, Wilson raised both eyebrows. "That… was interesting."

House just snorted.

"So…"

Anticipating what was coming next, House spontaneously rolled his eyes.

Wilson, of course, ignored it.

"Not eating, huh…?"

House's voice grew tense at that. "Of course I'm eating. I'm not an idiot, Wilson."

The oncologist replied with a slow nod. "You're almost as skinny as you were after the infarction. – You can't honestly tell me that's all due to the last couple of weeks!"

"I'm _fine_! – And it's none of your business."

That definitely hit home; the hurt was clearly visible on Wilson's face, even though he quickly tried to cover it up. "Oh? So it's none of my business now. Because of one fight? – Or is this still about Amber… Is that it? You're feeling… abandoned?"

House winced slightly at that, but his expression didn't change. "I'm eating, okay? You heard him a minute ago. I eat or I don't get to leave; so you can stop lecturing now…"

Wilson noted with a frown that his friend's O2 sats were falling slightly. So, he was apparently more upset by this than he was letting on…

"Okay. You're right. – I'm sorry..."

After a minute of slightly uneasy silence, Wilson nodded towards the TV. "Wanna watch a show or something?"

House hesitated briefly, but then just shrugged. "Sure. Why not…"

An hour later, he finally closed his eyes again.

Taking that as his cue to leave, Wilson slowly got to his feet, placing the remote close to his friend's IV-less hand. "I'll drop by tomorrow and give you a lift home; if you get to leave…"

House tiredly opened his eyes again, looking at him for a long moment, before eventually nodding slightly. "'Kay. Thanks…"

* * *

When Wilson returned the next day, House's doctor intercepted him in the corridor. "You bringing him home?" He smiled slightly at the oncologist.

Wilson nodded. "Uh, yeah! If you release him that is…"

The other medic just shrugged. "Don't have a choice! He was good; I promised to let him go then…" Then his expression sobered. "I just wanted you to know: He's still weak. He tries his best not to let it show too much, but he'll probably need some help the first couple of days…"

When Wilson didn't reply anything immediately, he quickly amended: "But – we can of course also arrange for a nurse to check up on him twice a day, until he's regained some of his strength..."

"No! No… That's okay. I'll have an eye on him…"

* * *

The doctor hadn't been kidding. When they had reached his apartment, House was deathly pale, sweating, and trembling almost violently. Wilson quickly guided him to sit on the couch.

"House…?" He couldn't quite conceal the concern in his voice.

His friend weakly waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. "I'm okay. Just…" he shook his head slightly "…a little shaky right now." He gave a hard cough.

Wilson suddenly felt something resembling mild panic creeping up. "Okay, House. I know this is a difficult situation but… - You can't stay alone here right now. And this time, I absolutely mean it."

To his surprise, House smiled up at him mildly; tiredly. "Don't get your panties in a knot, Wilson. I'll be fine; you'll be fine. – I hired a nurse to help me out a while…"

Wilson just stared at him for a second, momentarily too shocked to come up with an adequate reply. House had _never _agreed to any sort of home care before. Not even directly after the infarction. Not after the shooting… Never!

And it had only been his friend's infamous stubbornness that had kept him going again after every major health crisis. – If he didn't have the strength to be stubborn anymore, this could be it. He might not be recovering from this.

Wilson had seen it often enough: Some medical condition leading to an inexorable downward spiral of declining health, mobility issues, increased frailty and depression. – It wasn't always the _cancer _his patients were eventually succumbing to… The course of it all was gradual, but the end result was always the same: A sharp decline in the patient's general condition that was usually too late to counteract.

Wilson forcibly stopped his thoughts from continuing down that line of thinking, and instead tried to focus on the situation at hand.

"House. _I_ can drop by twice a day to help you out, you know…"

The older man nodded, suddenly apparently completely exhausted. "Yeah. I know. – Not… necessary though! Thanks anyway…" Seemingly casual; but he didn't meet Wilson's still shocked gaze.

"House…" Wilson's expression held an odd mixture of uncertainty, fear and helplessness. He waited for his friend to look up at him again, before forcing himself to continue, clearly uncomfortable now. "I've been… trying to do the right thing."

Despite the vagueness of the statement, House gave a very small nod, his gaze – for once – almost reassuring. "I know."

"But I'm…" Wilson started to rub the back of his neck, shaking his head slightly. "…not really sure what that is."

The raw honesty in his voice made every sarcastic comment House might have made die on his lips. It was pretty clear that they were not really talking about the relative flaws and merits of home-aid nurses anymore…

House eyed the younger man for a long moment.

"You once said our friendship was an ethical responsibility to you. – But your first responsibility has to be for _yourself_, Wilson."

The other man tensely returned his gaze. "I don't want to lose you."

This time, House couldn't hold back a snort, though it actually sounded more pained than anything else...

"I'm not your _wife_, Wilson. I hate to break it to you, but you're not _actually_ cheating on me by sleeping with CB…"

Wilson's expression didn't change. "That's not what I meant, House, and you know it."

The older man now eyed him very seriously, all attempts at sarcasm gone.

"I don't need your pity, Wilson. Or your guilt. I want you to just live your life."

"You're a part of my life, House…" Wilson would almost have cringed at how cliché that had sounded.

House just stared at him for a moment, before slowly pushing himself to his feet with what seemed like an effort. "Good to know."

He had expected his own words to be laced with bitterness, but was surprised to find his voice just shockingly toneless. Without waiting for a reply, he somewhat unsteadily started to make his way towards his bedroom, completely ignoring the other man's shocked silence.

Not knowing what he should do, not knowing what he _wanted_ to do really, Wilson didn't stop him.

* * *

**Tbc…**


	10. January

**January**

Three weeks later, House was back at work. He had still been convalescing around Christmas, but had actually spend an hour or two with Wilson and Amber on Christmas eve, before claiming to be tired and simply leaving them to themselves.

The first morning he came back in, Wilson was just trying to help House's team rule out a cancer diagnosis, when House suddenly entered the conference room, carelessly throwing his backpack into Kutner's general direction.

He found four pairs of eyes staring at him.

It was Foreman who finally spoke first, blunt as always. "What the hell happened to you?! You look like a corpse!"

"Well, thank you! I've been missing you, too…" House flopped down on one of the chairs, briefly glancing at the white board. "What did Daddy tell you about starting without him…?!" Sarcasm - as usual - perfectly in place.

When none of them seemed about to come out of their respective states of shock and talk to him any time soon, he finally snapped at them, irritably: "What! _I'm_ not our patient. Don't you think your attention might be a bit misdirected?"

* * *

A couple of days later, Wilson heard House's three fellows talking quietly among themselves, while they were all waiting in line at the cafeteria.

Kutner suddenly frowned. "I think he might be lonely." He looked almost pained at the conclusion; definitely compassionate. House would have vomited. "He's just always alone these days…"

Taub threw his colleague a dubious glance. "He's not always alone... And Wilson's not his baby-sitter. – House is grown man. If he can't make any friends beside Wilson, he'll just have to live with the consequences."

Thirteen looked between the two of them, before finally shrugging slightly. "We could ask him to join us for a few drinks or something. After work I mean…"

Taub's expression grew even more skeptical at that. "I seriously doubt he'd even consider it. – And _if_ you ask him, you should really ask him out for some decent _dinner_; not drinks…"

That last remark earned him admonishing glances from both his co-workers.

Wilson briefly closed his eyes.

* * *

Chase stuck his head into Exam Room 2, throwing his former boss a questioning glance. "You paged me…?" A moment later, his expression morphed into a slight frown, when he noticed the other man holding some gauze against the right side of his head.

"What happened to you?" He now entered the room fully, quickly closing the door and approaching the exam table House was currently sitting on.

"Bumped my head," was all he got in response.

Slipping on a pair of rubber gloves, Chase raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, so it would seem…" He lightly touched the hand that was still pressing against the wound, trying to move it out of the way. "Let me take a look."

Somewhat reluctantly, House slowly removed the gauze, allowing Chase to carefully inspect the still sluggishly bleeding wound. When he started to carefully probe the skull surrounding the injury, House reflexively pulled back a little, wincing in pain.

Chase frowned slightly at that. "Bumped your head pretty _good_ it seems! – What happened…?" He was still gently examining House's head.

The older man just shrugged in response. "Ice. Cane. Cripple. – The usual story…"

Chase's frown deepened. "You fell?"

"Was that a rhetorical question?" House sounded slightly pissed by now, apparently unhappy with having to spell it out.

Simply ignoring the other man's angry tone, Chase quickly scanned House's clothes, trying to detect any evidence of how he had hit the ground. He couldn't find any dirt or wetness or any other outward sign of a fall. But then again, House had probably worn a coat or something on his way to the clinic…

Moving a penlight towards House's eyes, he quickly checked the pupil response. "Any nausea? Or dizziness?"

House started to pull away from him. "I'm fine, Chase. Just need a couple of stitches…"

Nodding slightly, he put the penlight back into his pocket. "Did you black out?"

"Don't think so…"

Starting to prepare a local anesthetic and suture kit, Chase finally nodded again, stating calmly: "Might be a mild concussion; but I think you'll live."

He applied the first few stitches in silence, before stating almost conversationally: "Heard about the pneumonia…" He didn't take his eyes off his task.

When he didn't say anything more, House finally rolled his eyes. "That wasn't really a question, was it…"

Chase smirked slightly at that. "Not yet." Then, quietly: "You okay now?"

House was about to answer harshly, but something made him stop. He finally just shrugged. "Pretty much. – Little short of breath sometimes; and still pretty tired..." He couldn't remember the last time he had honestly answered such a question...

Chase just nodded slightly again. "You should still go a little easy then. Give yourself some more time to recover properly…" He silently finished the stitches, this time correctly not expecting another reply.

When he was done suturing the wound, he finally searched House's gaze again. "You hurt anything else?" Tone perfectly neutral again.

House exhaled audibly at that, apparently considering how to reply. He finally just held his right hand out slightly, revealing some scratches on the inside of the hand as well as a markedly swollen wrist.

Chase gently took hold of the proffered hand, eyeing the injury critically . "Can you move your fingers? Make a fist?"

House slowly demonstrated the range of motion.

Carefully palpating the different wrist bones, Chase closely watched the other man for reactions. "This painful?" He moved the thumb a little back and forth.

House winced slightly at that, but didn't pull back. "No..."

"And how's that?" Chase now gave some pressure onto the thumb into the direction of the wrist joint. This time, House winced more noticeably.

He continued his gentle examination for a couple of minutes, before finally looking up at the other man again. "Doesn't look so bad; probably just a sprain… But we should get an x-ray; just in case…"

House rolled his eyes again at that. "It's not broken, Chase…"

The younger man returned his gaze calmly. "There's some tenderness around the scaphoid bone. It might be broken without causing you too much pain right now…"

House defiantly met his gaze. "If it's the scaphoid bone, you probably wouldn't see a fracture yet anyway. – Just… bandage it up for me a little, please."

Chase eyed him for a long moment, before finally shrugging slightly and starting to search one of the cupboards for an ace bandage. "But if the pain starts getting worse over the next couple of days, you need to let me take another look, okay?"

When House reluctantly nodded his assent, he started to firmly bandage the wrist and part of the hand, leaving the fingers free for House to move.

Without taking his eyes off the task, Chase finally spoke again.

"The cane's gonna be a problem, at least for a couple of days…"

When he had tucked off the last part of the bandage, House testingly made a fist, before grasping his cane and closing his fingers firmly around the handle. He abruptly interrupted the action again, just a moment later, wordlessly switching the cane to his left hand.

Carefully sliding down from the examination table next, House couldn't help but hiss in pain, when his weak leg started to give way almost immediately. He quickly caught himself on the cane and the edge of the table, gradually regaining his balance, but completely keeping his weight off the right leg for now.

Chase eyed him critically, torn between his instinct to support the other man and his long experience in dealing with House and his unwillingness to rely on others unless he absolutely needed to. He finally settled on a quiet: "You okay…?"

House just looked away, still grimacing slightly. "Fine; just… Hand me my pills, will you?" He nodded towards his jacket, which he had apparently left by the door earlier.

When Chase handed over the bottle, his gaze reflexively fell on the label. He instantly frowned again. "Since when has Cuddy been writing scripts for you?"

Simply ignoring the question, House gratefully dry-swallowed two of the pills.

When he didn't move for another minute or two, Chase nodded towards House's weak leg, tone completely clinical again. "You fall on the leg?"

House didn't meet his gaze, but shook his head slightly in response.

The younger man was still eyeing him critically. "Think you might have strained something?"

Another brief shake of the head. "It's… just a little stiff right now…"

Chase gave him a skeptical look at that, but didn't return anything. When he saw House gingerly sitting down on one of the high stools, he started to slowly clean everything up again, intending to give the other man the time he needed to recover a bit.

"You shouldn't be driving, until we know how bad the concussion really is..." Chase briefly glanced at House, before disposing of the needle he had been using earlier. "Just give me a call when you want to leave; I'll give you a ride…" House didn't return his gaze, but Chase thought he saw him nod his head slightly.

"And I hope I don't have to mention that you need to let me know if your head should be getting worse… I'm only _not_ keeping you for observation for a few hours, because I hope you're not stupid enough to ignore symptoms of a brain bleed…"

This time, House couldn't help but roll his eyes. "I'm _fine_, Chase. Quit the mother hen act already… It doesn't suit you." But despite the gruff words, his tone wasn't really unfriendly.

When he finally got up and started moving towards the door another ten minutes later, Chase watched him for a moment, before calling after him just when he was about to leave the room. "You've been taking more, haven't you." More of a statement than a question...

House paused briefly at the door, back towards the younger man, hand already on the doorknob.

Chase bravely continued: "And you don't want Wilson to know. – That's why you have Cuddy writing for you now…"

Letting his head hang slightly, House simply stood there, not replying anything.

When he finally spoke again, his voice was very calm. "Thanks for the stitches." Without turning around again, he simply left the exam room.

Chase gazed after him, true concern on his face for the first time that day. When he spoke to the now empty room, his voice was quiet; almost pensive.

"Yeah… You're welcome."

* * *

**Tbc… :)  
**


	11. February

**February**

The following weeks passed relatively uneventfully. House's health had stabilized enough for him to work the same amount of cases he usually would, and by the end of January, Cuddy had even used her well-tried charm-meets-threat technique to get him to spend a few hours a day doing clinic duty.

And Wilson was relieved to note that – while House didn't really look any better than he had a couple of weeks ago – he at least didn't seem to be getting any worse. So his initial concern regarding an imminent major health crisis had apparently been unfounded. Which was very good, since he really had a lot of other things on his mind right now…

For some reason – and he couldn't for the life of him come up with one – things between himself and Amber had slowly started going downhill some time ago. It felt as if they might be in some serious trouble in the not so far future, but Wilson was determined not to give in that easily this time. He had been in this position often enough. This time, he would fight for his dream of a family. Of happiness. Of a sense of… completeness.

It _felt_ bad right now. But giving up would feel even worse… He just had to hang in there. Show her he was serious. – He really loved her, after all… Why did it always become such an _effort_ at some point though?

Maybe all he needed was an evening on House's couch. Some beer, a bad movie… Just some breathing time. To relax. Get his mind off things…

. . . . .

He was abruptly pulled from his thoughts, when Kutner knocked on his office door one Friday morning.

"Can I… talk to you for a minute?" He seemed a little nervous.

Wilson eyed him curiously. "Of course." He gestured towards the chair opposite his desk. "What's up?"

The younger man hesitantly entered the room, apparently uncomfortable. He sat down but didn't say anything for a moment, before finally forcing himself to meet Wilson's gaze.

"I… got a call from House yesterday."

Wilson frowned slightly at that. "What; as in… yesterday after work?"

A small nod. "Around ten. Told me he'd had a minor accident and that he needed some assistance."

Wilson's frown deepened, but he didn't say anything, just nodded for the other man to continue instead.

"He told me to use his spare key. – I found him in the kitchen..." Kutner seemed to hesitate briefly, before taking a deep breath and continuing his explanation. "There was a lot of blood." He tried to ignore Wilson's shocked gaze. "From a cut on his forearm. Close to the wrist really. – Said he'd accidentally cut himself…" He briefly looked down, before seemingly forcing himself to continue. "I also saw an empty bottle of Aspirin on the kitchen counter…"

Wilson now paled slightly, trying very hard to keep his composure. "What are you saying…"

Kutner slowly looked up to meet his gaze again. "I'm not saying anything. I'm just telling you… - He needed 14 stitches."

Wilson almost didn't find his voice again, his throat suddenly tight. "Did he seem…"

Kutner interrupted him. "He seemed normal. Well, normal for _him_ anyway… – But he refused to go to the ER. Had me stitch him up at his apartment. – I think he didn't want anyone else to know…"

Wilson replied with a slow nod. "So you _are_ saying… that you think he… did this on purpose." Not really a question.

The younger man just shrugged. "No, I'm... I just thought you should know. – He's been… I don't know. – All I'm saying is; you're still his friend, right? Maybe you should talk to him."

Wilson suddenly felt himself starting to sweat. "Of course I'm still his friend…" He abruptly stood up from his chair. He needed to get out of here... "But I don't think he – " Deep breath. "He wouldn't do something like that. And _if_ he did, he wouldn't do it with a knife and some _Aspirin_…!" He slowly shook his head, forcing himself to calm down a bit again. "And if he'd really intended to kill himself, harm himself, whatever… Why would he call anybody then?"

Watching Wilson from where he was still sitting, Kutner finally replied with a small shrug even though he was frowning slightly by now. "Maybe he just changed his mind. Maybe he was… confused or something when he did it. Or maybe it really was just an accident. – Just… Will you talk to him? Please?"

* * *

"Hey…"

House briefly looked up from his PC to find Wilson entering his office and sitting down in the chair across from his desk.

"Hey."

A brief moment of silence, during which Wilson firmly kept his gaze on his friend. When he finally spoke again, his tone was suspiciously neutral. "I hear you've injured your arm…"

House calmly returned his intense gaze.

"Yes." Tone light. – Holding up said arm slightly, he indicated the bandaged wound site. "Already stitched up though, so everything's good."

Wilson slowly nodded at that, eyes lingering for a moment on the pristine white bandage. "You gave Kutner a scare…"

House snorted slightly at that. "With a cut?! Guess I should reconsider my hiring decisions then…"

Wilson didn't take his eyes off the other man. "He says you'd taken Aspirin before..."

House just shrugged at the comment. "So what. I had a headache."

"House." The older man's expression was already stubborn; Wilson continued anyway. "How depressed are you?"

"I'm not depressed. – And I didn't try to kill myself." Voice calm, but firm.

Wilson eyed him incredulously. "You honestly think I believe you that you cut yourself badly enough to need _fourteen_ stitches… accidentally?!"

House's expression suddenly turned into a mixture of anger and embarrassment. "I was drunk, okay?!" When Wilson didn't reply anything immediately, he continued more quietly. "I fell with a glass in hand. – It was an accident."

An awkward silence settled between them. Then Wilson apparently found his voice again.

"How much have you been drinking lately? You know that your pills in _combination_ with alcohol don't make a very good – "

"Oh, for Christ's sake…" House started to wearily rub his forehead. "Will you just stop?!"

Wilson just looked at him for a moment. When he finally spoke again, his tone was very quiet. "If it really was an accident… Then, why didn't you call _me_. Why Kutner?"

House briefly averted his eyes at that, before apparently forcing himself to meet Wilson's slightly hurt gaze again. "Maybe because I wanted to avoid exactly the conversation we're having right now. Maybe because I knew that you'd be _physically unable_ to not make a big deal out of it…"

They both knew that wasn't the whole truth. – Maybe it wasn't even part of it…

Wilson was just about to reply something, when they were interrupted by Chase, who had suddenly appeared in the doorway.

His gaze travelled from one man to the other, clearly aware of the tension between them. "Sorry… Should I come back?" He gestured slightly towards the corridor, apparently ready to just leave again.

"No." House nodded for him to come in. "This enormously stimulating conversation has just come to its long-overdue ending anyway…"

Wilson threw him a disapproving glance at that, but didn't say anything. – He also made no move to leave…

Still a little uncertain about how appropriate the moment was, Chase finally started to speak a little hesitantly.

"Cameron is going to try her hand at a pot roast tonight."

The statement was so unexpected that both House and Wilson needed a moment to process what had been said. Chase was eyeing House expectantly, apparently waiting for some sort of response.

House finally just raised an eyebrow. "Uh… Good luck with that?"

The younger man smirked at that, patiently clarifying: "We could use a third stomach…"

When House was still staring at him uncomprehendingly, Chase raised his eyebrows slightly. "We'd like you to come." He sounded as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Wilson's gaze went from Chase to House, expression incredulous. "That was… unexpected."

Simply ignoring his friend's comment, House now shook his head slightly, eyes on Chase. "No."

"Just… 'No'?! – Why not?" Chase sounded honestly surprised by the flat dismissal. Maybe even a little disappointed...

"Hmm… Why don't I want to leave my apartment and drive 20 minutes to get to a place I've never been to before, just to eat some pot roast of dubious quality in the company of two of my ex-employees. ––– Where to begin?"

Chase regarded him with a small frown. "So, you don't feel like leaving your apartment, having company, or eating?"

House tilted his head slightly in mock thought. "I'd say: Two out of three actually!" With that he turned towards his PC again, hoping to signal both men the end of this strange meeting…

He was actually surprised when Chase simply went on, tone casual: "Okay, so... I guess we could either come by your place then, bring you some food and leave again; or we could come and keep you some company, while eating everything by ourselves." He finished with a small shrug. "So... What's it gonna be?"

Shaking his head again at that, House briefly glanced towards the ceiling in obvious frustration. "I don't believe this…" Then, gruffly: "Okay. 8 o'clock. My place. – But don't you dare forget the food… And absolutely no kissing or holding hands!"

Chase smirked again at that. "With you or Cameron?"

Before House even had a chance to reply, he turned around to leave the room. When he had already reached the door, he half-turned around again, curiously nodding towards House's left side. "What happened to your arm?"

To House's threatening glance, he then just shrugged slightly again, pushed the door open and left.

After a very brief moment of silence, Wilson turned towards his friend again, the look on his face incredulous. "What the hell was that?"

House returned his gaze wearily. "What was what. – You heard him. They have food; they want to share. End of story…"

Shaking his head slightly, Wilson still sounded stunned. "I can't believe you're actually going to have dinner with Cameron and _Chase_…! – You don't even like them!"

House just shrugged at that. "I like food…"

That obviously wasn't good enough for the oncologist. "I didn't even know you had any sort of private – "

"Wilson!" House was clearly becoming annoyed now. "What the hell is wrong with you?! – First you're upset about a cut on my arm, then you're upset because I'm having dinner with someone. One could almost get the impression you were _trying_ to be upset about something."

Wilson looked stunned at that. "I'm… – No. Of course not. Why should I…" Then, shaking his head defensively: "I mean it's _great_ that you're… meeting people. It's good. Great."

"You're repeating yourself."

"I'm just surprised, House! You're not really the most sociable guy in New Jersey…"

House suddenly narrowed his eyes in suspicion, gaze intense. "You're not actually _jealous_, are you. – Because I'd _lack the vocabulary_ to express how ridiculous that would be." He hated the mixture of anger and bitterness that had unbiddenly entered his voice.

Wilson looked completely taken aback. "I'm not… That's not the point, House. – I just find it curious. I mean… Pity is the most unacceptable feeling on earth, but it's okay when it comes from _Cameron _and _Chase_?!"

Flinching sharply at those last words, House actually looked as if he had been slapped in the face for a moment.

Wilson seemed shocked by his own words as well, because he now quickly added in an almost apologetic tone: "That… didn't come out quite as I had planned it…"

Before he could even come up with some further explanation or apology, House had already pushed himself to his feet, expression once again impassive; stony even. "Get the hell out of here, Wilson." He jerkily nodded towards his office door.

His tone didn't leave much room for bargaining. Still, Wilson didn't want to just leave things between them like this. "House…"

"I mean it, Wilson. Get out. _Now_!"

Briefly opening his mouth again, Wilson finally just shook his head dejectedly, before somewhat stiffly pushing himself to his feet and reluctantly leaving the room.

. . . . .

House's head was pounding, causing him to lean on his desk heavily the moment his office door had fallen close again and he was finally alone. The only thing he could still hear at this point was his own pulse, which was right now giving a very convincing impression of a metronome set for the _Flight of the Bumblebee_.

He didn't feel well, but couldn't exactly place his discomfort. Maybe it was just the _waves and waves _of pain his leg was right now sending as sharp reminders of his much too abrupt movements when he had so impulsively pushed himself to his feet a minute ago…

Instinct made him suddenly lurch to the side, causing him to land awkwardly in his desk chair again, head directly above the trash can now. Seconds later, he was retching miserably, until he had lost everything he'd had that day, which was basically lots of coffee and half a bagel...

He needed to go home. Which wasn't good because that would require quite a bit of actual movement. – At the very _least_, he needed to lie down…

Pushing himself to a shaky stance again, he groaned the moment he leaned onto his cane to take a step. There was just _no way _that his shoulder was going to adequately support his weight today, unless he wanted to keep moaning with every single step he took. Come to think of it, the same seemed to be true for his leg…

Reaching for the phone, he quickly punched in a couple of numbers, waiting impatiently for someone to pick up. He felt sweat breaking out on his face and across his back.

As soon as he heard a female voice on the other end of the line, he bit out a little more harshly then intended: "We need a pair of crutches up in diagnostics. Stat."

Not even waiting for a reply, he simply hung up again, before quickly hop-stepping his way over to his recliner, sinking down on it with a barely suppressed moan.

_Dam__mit!_ He was beginning to feel seriously light-headed. What _was_ it with him lately…?!

Still trying to catch his breath, he made a conscious effort to calm down a bit again. If he could just relax for a couple of minutes and gather his strength, he'd be okay to leave.

Giving in to the exhaustion he'd already been battling all day, he finally allowed his eyes to fall close; just for a moment... He would just rest here for a while; give himself a few minutes to recover a bit…

In the end, the nurse from orthopedics who had taken House's call found him passed out in his chair. Frowning slightly at the clear signs of sweat on his shirt and the paleness on his face, she gently reached out to take his pulse. Satisfied with the steady beat of his heart and his regular breathing, she finally just shrugged, leaning the crutches she had brought against the arm of the chair.

She wondered if he might actually be ill…

He certainly looked it.

Maybe she'd just come back again in an hour; just in case...

* * *

**Tbc… :)  
**


	12. March

**A/N: I'm so sorry for the very long wait and also for the lack of replies to all your wonderful comments… Unfortunately, my car had a somewhat rough and unexpected encounter with someone else's car, so I was sort of out of commission for the last 10 days or so. – But now I'm back and all ready to post the last three chapters of this, so… Here you go! :)**

* * *

**March**

Things had been very awkward between House and Wilson the next couple of weeks. In all truth, Wilson's relationship was finally threatening to hit rock bottom at an alarmingly quick pace, which left him with little to no resources to try and make right whatever had gone wrong between _House_ and himself. He figured there would still be enough time for that _after_ he had sorted things out with Amber; one way or another…

Shortly after their last unfortunate encounter, Wilson had noticed that House had stopped coming to him for his Vicodin refills, but a quick talk with Cuddy had confirmed that she had taken over as his friend's prescribing physician; at least for now...

Sometime in late March, Wilson finally found himself standing in front of House's apartment at 11 p.m., hoping to hell his friend would open. – He hadn't even spoken to the man in about a week, but he just didn't know where else to go...

He gave a few tentative knocks, then tried again a little more loudly. – After about a minute or two, he finally heard uneven steps approaching.

When he finally opened the door, House eyed him with a strange expression, a mixture of irritation, curiosity, and minute traces of concern on his face. Then his gaze fell on the suitcase at the younger man's side and at least the confusion left his face, replaced by something resembling mild compassion.

House took a small step backwards, wordlessly allowing Wilson entrance.

The oncologist reluctantly met his gaze, a somewhat sheepish expression on his face, that did nothing to conceal the pain in his eyes. "Thanks…"

House gave a barely perceivable nod. "Want a beer?" Tone calm; and slightly tentative.

Wilson just nodded, briefly meeting House's gaze again, before slowly starting to move towards the couch he already knew so well.

"So…" When he returned from the kitchen, House carefully lowered himself onto the couch as well, handing Wilson a cold bottle of beer. He himself – Wilson noticed – was having a coke. "I assume you don't wanna talk about it?"

Wilson just nodded again. Talking was actually the very _last_ thing he wanted to do right now... "Can I stay with you for a couple of days?"

House just shrugged. "Sure. Not like it's the first time…"

After a minute of slightly uneasy silence, House gestured towards the TV. "Wanna watch something? There's a monster truck all-night special on tonight…"

Wilson replied with a very small smile, relieved that House obviously didn't intend to make this any harder for him than it already was. "Sounds perfect right now…"

They watched it together for a while, very gradually falling into something resembling their usual routine. And while at least some remaining _traces_ of an underlying tenseness between them just couldn't be denied, Wilson was perfectly happy with what he got for now. House even completely refrained from commenting on the whole situation with any of his usual sharp sarcasm, and Wilson felt himself slowly starting to relax a bit.

Sometime between 2 and 3 a.m. House slowly pushed himself to his feet again, briefly making eye contact with the other man. "Need to get some sleep. You know where everything is…"

. . . . .

Tiredly brushing his teeth about an hour later, Wilson somewhat clumsily opened House's bathroom cabinet in search of some dental floss. When a familiar orange vial suddenly fell towards him, he awkwardly caught it in his free hand, mentally rolling his eyes at the chaos reigning in practically each hidden corner of his friend's apartment. Automatically glancing at the label, he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks.

_OxyContin__?!_

Prescribed by Cuddy. To his friend. Prescription date: last week. And it was a refill, meaning - _Oh God… _He hadn't even had a clue House's pain had become worse. So much worse, apparently, that Cuddy had agreed to switch him to practically morphine in pill form!

Come to think of it: He _had_ known it had been getting worse. – The shower chair; the crutches; the sick days… He had even _asked_ House about it a couple of times. Well, maybe not as persistently as he usually would have, but still… Fuck.

This wasn't one of House's usual intermezzi, or even one of his tactics when he wanted something he couldn't get. This wasn't a minor increase in his pain level that could conveniently be attributed to mild psychological distress. – This was a major medication change after almost a decade of constant chronic pain treatment. This was a major setback.

_Fuck__, fuck, fuck!_

How the hell had everything started going downhill this fast, this bad? And what the hell had he been thinking to just _allow_ it?!

Now that he thought about it, allowed his own behavior to really sink in for the first time in _months_, he couldn't believe what a lousy friend he had been to House lately… How he'd let him fend for himself all the time. How he had expected him to just deal with it, when his one reliable social support system suddenly basically fell away; for no tangible reason; without an explanation; without comment. How he had – if he was completely honest with himself – not even wanted to _know_ what exactly was going on with House, because he just hadn't been ready to face the extent of the damage he himself had helped to inflict. Because he'd been afraid that his concern for House would once again distract him. That – once he'd realize how bad off House really was – he wouldn't be able to simply ignore it.

Which he had clearly been doing very effectively.

He had seen all the signs, yet somehow told himself it would be okay. That House could do this. That he was as much there for him as the other man needed it.

As must as could be _expected_ of him.

He suddenly felt slightly sick with himself.

He'd been such an ass… It was a wonder really, that House had let him in at all tonight. That he hadn't ever said a word about it. That, for once, he hadn't tried for even a minute to get Wilson to do what would have been _right_…!

. . . . .

The next day, his first way led him to Cuddy. She met his gaze expectantly.

"OxyContin?!" He tensely approached her, sitting down in the chair across from her desk.

She eyed him for a moment, before replying with a small nod. "So, he told you…"

Wilson angrily shook his head. "No, he didn't. And _you_ didn't. – I had to find one of his pill bottles at his apartment to know!"

She calmly met his accusing gaze. "It wasn't my place to tell you. – I'm his prescribing physician now! Which means, I'm not even _allowed_ to tell you!"

Wilson's shoulders suddenly slumped. "How bad…"

Cuddy regarded him patiently, knowing he needed to hear the truth now...

"Bad." She paused briefly, then continued her explanation: "He had severe episodes of breakthrough pain almost every day. Barely made it here most days..." She slowly shook her head, traces of frustration now entering her voice. "Of course he didn't bother to actually _tell_ anyone! Some…," she gestured slightly with one hand, "…nurse had to find him passed out in his office first! At that point, he hadn't slept or eaten properly in days… Couldn't even stand up without provoking severe bouts of dizziness." Then, more quietly again: "Passively moving the leg _alone _made him nauseous... – There was no other choice. We had to do something..."

Nodding slowly, Wilson simply closed his eyes for a moment. "How long." Not that he really wanted to know…

"Five weeks now." After a brief moment of hesitation, she added more softly: "He asked me not to tell you…"

Wilson's gaze drifted past her now, and he just stared at the depressingly gray sky for a long moment.

"It's over..." When Cuddy just looked at him questioningly, he quietly clarified: "Me and Amber; it's over…"

Cuddy looked honestly surprised at that. And immediately compassionate. "I'm… really sorry to hear that, Wilson. – I know how important this was to you…"

He didn't react to her words; just continued in a monotone. "He simply let me in last night. No mocking words, no accusations, no indication of how betrayed he must be feeling. Of how much I hurt his feelings…"

Cuddy smiled somewhat sadly at that, the look on her face very mild. "He knows how important this was to you as well…"

Wilson suddenly met her gaze again, his expression so lost that she could hardly bear to look at him. "Yeah; I guess he does…" Then he suddenly shook his head. "God… I'm such a stupid idiot, Cuddy!"

She touched his arm in a small gesture of comfort. "You're not an idiot, Wilson. You simply wanted to have a family…"

He abruptly looked up at her again at that. "I _had_ a family; before all this. – Even if it was a screwed up family. And a small one..." His expression was suddenly strangely empty. "Now I have nothing."

* * *

"_Now you have nothing_?!" House quoted, face pulled into a mocking grimace, when he stormed into Wilson's office an hour or so after his conversation with Cuddy. "What's _that_ for a sappy crap?!"

Wilson just rolled his eyes. Of course, Cuddy had immediately gone running to him…

"House… I – "

He was rudely interrupted.

"My couch's still there. My beer's still all yours… - I've never broken up with you." In contrast to _her_, or in contrast to _Wilson with him_, he didn't say…

Wilson winced at the implication.

Before he even had a chance to reply, House finished quickly, uncomfortably: "You're as alone or as not alone as you were before all this. So stop feelin' sorry for yourself already…"

With that he turned around and left the room as abruptly as he'd entered.

**Tbc… **


	13. April II

**April II  
**

Wilson lightly knocked on his friend's bedroom door, when he still hadn't heard anything from the other man two hours after he himself had gotten up. House had promised him a ride in this morning, because his own car was scheduled for inspection today.

"House…?" When he didn't get a response, he somewhat hesitantly pushed the door open, immediately smelling very faint traces of vomit. Come to think of it, he'd heard House use the bathroom several times that night…

House seemed awake, but didn't move when his friend entered the room.

"You okay?" Wilson slowly approached the other man's bed, trying to see his face.

House moved slightly at that, half-heartedly turning around a bit. Wilson noticed that he was hugging himself around the abdomen slightly, his face much too pale for his liking.

At least he seemed completely lucid.

"Not feelin' so hot. Think I'll call in sick today…"

Wilson couldn't help but frown slightly at that. "What's wrong then? – Something you ate, or…?" He shook his head questioningly, clearly expecting the other man to know what was going on.

That expectation was disappointed though, when House just gave a weak shrug in response.

Unsure of how to proceed, Wilson just kept standing somewhat helplessly in front of his friend's bed, until House finally threw him an annoyed glare.

"I don't need an audience for this, Wilson… Just take my car. Don't think I'll be going anywhere today..." With that he simply turned around again, clearly signaling the end of the conversation…

. . . . . . .

When Wilson returned to his friend's apartment later that day, he was alarmed by slight specks of blood in the bathroom sink.

"House…" This time, he approached the other man's bed without hesitation, face a frown of concern.

Tiredly opening his eyes, House turned his head slightly to meet Wilson's concerned gaze. His face was even paler than it had been that morning, his expression eerily calm.

"Think I have a bleeding ulcer…"

Trying to hide how shocked he really was by his friend's words, Wilson forced himself to nod slowly. "How long…"

House's eyes fell closed again. "First suspected something a couple days ago…"

Wilson's alarm went up another notch, when he noticed the slight slur to his friend's voice. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he now quickly reached out to take his pulse. "How much blood, House…"

The older man shrugged weakly, still not opening his eyes again. "Pint or two maybe…"

"Jesus, House…" Wilson now pulled his cell phone out of his pocket with suddenly trembling hands. "Why the hell didn't you _call_ me?!" Cold fear was slowly filling his chest.

_It will be okay_, he frantically told himself over and over, while dialing 911...

* * *

"How's he doing…?" Wilson nervously addressed House's attending physician, as soon as he had finished the cauterization procedure.

The other medic calmly met his gaze, but the look on his face was strained. "Okay so far… We managed to cauterize both ulcers, and he's in recovery now. – We had a little trouble stabilizing him though… He almost crashed twice."

The words hit Wilson like a brick wall.

"But… he'll… be okay, right?" He felt seriously sick by now.

The older medic seemed to force a small smile. "He should be. – But he's in pretty rough shape right now. It'll definitely take him a while to recover from this…"

* * *

When House woke up frowning in apparent confusion, Wilson quickly pushed himself out of the visitor's chair, moving into his line of sight. He managed a small smile.

"Hey…"

House turned his head slightly to meet his warm gaze. "Hey…" It came out weak and raspy. He was still frowning slightly.

Reaching for the ice chips he had organized just a few minutes ago, Wilson collected a few, before handing the spoon to his friend.

"You'll be fine, House. They cauterized two ulcers, probably NSAID induced, and you're doing well now." When House just nodded slightly in response, he added more quietly: "The biopsy was negative…"

House searched his gaze at that, holding it for a moment, before finally just nodding again. – He probably hadn't expected anything else…

Wilson kept his gaze on the other man, concern still evident on his face. "How are you feeling…?"

That question finally elicited a pained half-laugh. "Guess it's not exactly my year… Starting to get tired of this shit." He weakly gestured towards the surrounding hospital equipment, sounding completely exhausted.

Wilson nodded slowly, fighting the urge to touch him in a gesture of comfort. "Yeah, I know… But you'll be fine, House. You've lost a lot of blood, but you'll be feeling much better once you've recovered a bit."

House gave another weak nod in response, briefly glancing at his arms, before touching first his chest, then the side of his neck. "Yeah… You might wanna start a central line though…"

Wilson's expression instantly changed to a mixture of shocked and confused. "You… mean…?" He didn't quite know how to continue.

The look on House's face grew impatient. "...that I'm still nauseous; probably will be for another couple of days... – Can't afford not to eat that long. I'll need some TPN to prevent me from getting any weaker…"

Matter-of-factly. Still, to hear House say something like that made alarm bells shriek loudly in Wilson's head. Desperately trying to remain outwardly calm, he fumbled for words. "Yeah, you… Good idea; you're right. I'll have it ordered…" He hated how shocked he sounded. No wonder House heard it too…

"I'm not dying, Wilson! Just not feeling great. Don't wanna risk any additional complications; that's all…" This was as reassuring as he got.

Wilson just wordlessly nodded now, not trusting his voice at the moment.

Then, quietly: "Are you in any pain…?"

A small shrug. "Nah; not too bad…" House tiredly closed his eyes again.

Feeling more uncertain by the minute, Wilson awkwardly reached out to adjust House's IV slightly.

"Try and get some rest then. – I'll… see you later."

* * *

An hour later, Wilson was standing in the corridor watching House through the room's glass window, when he was suddenly startled out of his thoughts by a familiar Australian accent.

"How's he doing?" Chase sounded very calm; casual almost.

Turning towards the younger man for a moment, Wilson sighed slightly. "Better." A small shrug. "Tired."

Chase nodded slowly. "No wonder. He's pretty weak…"

Turning towards the window again, Wilson's expression suddenly grew pensive. "Yeah…"

From his peripheral vision, he could see Chase turn his head slightly to look at him. "He's gonna be just fine, Wilson."

The oncologist slowly nodded, but didn't reply anything.

After a minute or two of silence, Wilson suddenly spoke again. "Why did you invite him over for dinner; a few weeks back…"

Chase looked puzzled for a moment, frowning slightly at the question, but then he just shrugged. "Why not? – He can be fun…" Another shrug. "I like him."

Wilson was still staring straight ahead. "Everyone thinks I'm an ass…"

Pausing for a moment, Chase finally just shrugged again. "Everyone thinks _he's_ an ass, too, so… Why do you care?" Then: "And _he_ doesn't think you're an ass, obviously…"

Silence.

Then: "He requested to be put on TPN for a while…"

Chase hesitated briefly; then just nodded once. "Makes sense."

"He – "

This time, Chase interrupted him. "Wilson. Go in there. Talk to him. – You're not gonna resolve anything by talking to _me_…" When the other man still obviously hesitated, the look on his face softened slightly. "He doesn't hate you… It'll be fine."

* * *

"You finally done talking about me?"

Wilson rolled his eyes at the question, trying to appear casual while reclaiming his seat in the visitor's chair next to House's bed. "We weren't talking about you…"

"Sure you were!" Tone light.

"House there's… something I need to tell you. – I think you already know, but…" He forced himself to make eye contact with the other man, hoping House would be able to tell that his words were sincere. "I'm _sorry_." He hated how miserable he sounded, even to his own ears...

Hesitating very briefly, House finally just scoffed in response. "For what? – You poison my coffee with kitchen cleanser? 'Cause otherwise: I don't really think it was _you_ who dissolved my stomach lining…"

Wilson slowly shook his head. "That's not what I meant, House, and you know it…"

"Yeah?" The older man threw him a challenging glance. "So what _did_ you mean?"

"I didn't… handle things very well the last couple of months."

He saw a look of annoyance cross House's face at that. "You just don't get it, do you. There's nothing to handle!" He angrily hit the bedrail with the flat of his hand, before taking a deep breath in an obvious attempt to calm down a bit again. When he finally spoke again, his gaze was still intense, but most of the anger was already gone. "Either you wanna be here, or you don't. That decision is the only thing I need you to _handle_..."

When Wilson didn't reply anything immediately, he simply went on, trying not to sound as emotional as he was unbiddenly starting to feel. "When I said you had to do what's good for yourself, I meant it." Then, visibly forcing himself to hold the younger man's gaze: "You're my best friend, Wilson. – But that doesn't mean I have to be yours, too..."

Those quiet words were finally more than Wilson could bear, the tender, almost naïve simpleness of the statement finally bringing tears to his eyes. "You…" He had to swallow hard for a moment, voice cracking slightly. "Of course you are, House. You've always been…"

He had to look away suddenly, when House's eyes just rested on him for a very long moment.

He didn't anticipate his friend's eventual reply.

"Great! – Now get your ass outta here and bring me my Game Boy. – If I'm once again forced to lie around, while enduring hospital food, idiot nurses and blood-pressure checks every five seconds, the least I can do is make some space monkeys share my misery…"

Wilson looked up at him at that, replying with a surprised half-laugh that actually sounded more like a sob. For once ignoring all the unspoken rules between them, he suddenly engulfed the older man in an almost violent hug.

House raised both eyebrows in shocked surprise, whole body stiffening momentarily, before he eventually made himself relax in the other man's embrace. He even found himself awkwardly patting Wilson's back a couple of times, a rare smile finding its way onto his face.

One hand still on Wilson's back, he finally spoke again. "Don't let Chase see. He'll get the wrong idea and try again himself…" He felt Wilson laugh against him, before the younger man slowly loosened his hold a little. When he finally pulled away completely, Wilson's face was moist with tears, but he was smiling slightly.

"Thank you, House… I – "

House quickly held up a hand, effectively silencing the other man. "Don't ruin this by talking, okay? – Remember some of the stuff that's been coming out of your mouth lately? Why not just enjoy the peace in silence for a while…" The seemingly harsh words were softened considerably by the almost fond look on his face.

Wilson just nodded in response, trying to follow House's lead and regain some of his usual demeanor. "And why not just go one step _further_ than that, and enjoy the peace in the silence of separate _rooms_ for a while… This way I won't be able to _offend _your majesty by my words _or_ deeds…" Voice dripping of sarcasm.

He slowly got up from where he had been sitting on the side of the bed, muttering under his breath just in case House had misunderstood his response: "Those space monkeys probably won't come here of their own accord after all…"

House had to smirk slightly at his friend's awkward, and uncharacteristically careful, attempts at humor. He watched him leave the room, before gratefully sinking back against the pillows of his bed.

Slowly closing his eyes, he felt a small smile tugging at his lips, as he allowed himself to fully relax for the first time in what felt like months. The soft mattress felt good; _lying_ here felt good. And even though he was still slightly nauseous and also a bit sore again by now, all in all, so did he.

The smile on his face grew slightly, as he felt himself drifting off to sleep.

"No… They probably won't."

* * *

**A/N: So… This was basically it. :) I'll post an epilogue in a couple of days, and I'll probably add some 'extras' at irregular intervals dealing with some of the scenes that happened between months (as suggested by fox4mel; thanks again for that :). I'd also like to thank everyone who's been sticking with this, especially all you wonderful people who took the time to leave me some feedback as well. You guys absolutely rock!! :) **


	14. Epilogue

_**Epilogue**_

* * *

**May II**

"Hey…"

Chase looked up from the chart he had just been signing, to see Foreman approaching the clinic counter.

"Hey…" He eyed the other man expectantly.

"I heard House was going home tomorrow…"

Chase replied with a somewhat wry smile. "Yeah. Dr Malloy finally gave up the fight…"

Foreman nodded pensively, the look on his face unreadable. "They discontinued the TPN?"

Frowning slightly at the other man's sudden interest, Chase finally replied with a small nod. "Yeah."

"Wilson still staying at his place?"

Chase's frown deepened, his tone – by now – long-suffering. "As far as I know: Yes. – Why?"

Just a shrug. "No reason. I'm just asking…"

Chase smirked slightly at that. "You worried about him?" Tone a mixture of surprised, amused, and incredulous.

Foreman just rolled his eyes in response. "Yeah, sure. Been having sleepless nights over him…"

Chase's eyes still held amusement, but the look on his face was suddenly mild.

"He's doing better... He'll be fine."

* * *

**August II**

"I think it's the rotator cuff."

Abandoning the coffee machine for now, House slowly turned around to face the conference table, where Kutner was currently munching on a spoonful of drenched cereal. He eyed the younger man warily. "Are you actually talking to _me_, or are you just practicing medical speech with random sentences again..."

Not at all intimidated by his boss's tone or the warning glare he shot him, Kutner used his spoon to casually gesture into the general direction of House's right arm. "Your shoulder. I think it's most likely rotator cuff damage."

"My _shoulder_… is _fine_." As if to demonstrate, House forced himself to reach up for the sugar with his right hand, trying to hide a wince when a sharp pain instantly reminded him that his shoulder was very obviously disagreeing with his assessment.

"Oh, please…" Forgetting all about his meal for now, Kutner leaned back in the chair, still gesturing indiscriminately with his spoon. "When's the last time you actually used the upper half of that white board. A year ago?" Not really a question. "Why wouldn't you write on the upper half, unless you can't lift your arm high enough…"

"Maybe to give Taub a chance to see what I'm writing, too…?"

The younger man smirked slightly at that, even though he was clearly unconvinced by House's reasoning. "You do remember my specialty, right? – You should get an MRI to see if it's a tear or if it's just some inflammation…"

House pulled his face into a sarcastic grimace. "I'll be sure to make an appointment right away…" With that he simply turned towards the coffee machine again.

Kutner – as always undeterred by House's moods – was still frowning at his boss's back. "Why wouldn't you wanna do something, when you're obviously hurt?"

House abruptly turned around again at that, fixing Kutner with an annoyed glare. "I'm not _hurt_…!"

The younger man nodded patiently. "Does that mean you already had someone look at it?"

This time, House rolled his eyes in apparent frustration, voice now rising in volume. "It's _not an injury_! – There's nothing to be done…"

Kutner replied with a small shrug. "There might be pain you can't do much about. – Pain from a rotator cuff injury, there's plenty of things you can do about that…"

Staring at the younger man for a long moment, House finally just nodded once, before abruptly turning towards his office, coffee suddenly forgotten...

* * *

**December II**

"You wanna come over for Christmas dinner?" Chase asked casually apropos of nothing, while continuing to pick at his cafeteria salad.

House raised an eyebrow at the unexpected question. "'_Over'_ as in… to you and Cameron?!"

Chase just shrugged one shoulder. "Sure. Cam's sister will be there, too. – She's very… un-Cameron-like though." Another shrug. "I think you'll like her."

When House continued to stare at him incredulously, he quickly added: "You can bring Wilson if you want…"

House suddenly exhaled sharply in what sounded like a pained half-laugh, shaking his head slightly. "Just in case you didn't notice… I'm _fine_ now. There's no need to babysit me…"

Chase's expression didn't change at all; he simply nodded, tone casual. "I know! And that's not what I'm doing... – It's just a dinner invitation, House. Some people actually do stuff like that around this time of the year. – You know… the whole 'family, friends, peace on earth' thing..."

House was still eyeing him dubiously, before simply refocusing his attention on his sandwich.

When he had finished eating, he slowly pushed himself to his feet, reaching out to place his empty tray on top of Chase's.

Throwing the younger man a last short glance, he finally declared: "I'll bring the booze. God knows we'll probably need it… – But don't expect to see me dancing around your Christmas tree."

Smiling slightly at the image, Chase immediately shook his head. "No Christmas tree dancing. Promise."

"And I won't be nice," House added warningly, already turning towards the elevators.

Chase's smirk widened. "Of course not… Where would be the fun in _that_?"

* * *

**February II**

"I wanna try getting back on the Vicodin."

Cuddy raised an eyebrow at the unexpected announcement, her expression an odd mixture of surprised, pleased, and concerned.

"Uh, okay…" Tone slightly questioning.

House had been prepared for her hesitation, but he still wasn't able to look at her directly when he forced out an explanation. "Leg's been feeling better lately, despite the cold. Think I don't need the Oxy anymore… No reason to deal with all the side effects, if I can just avoid them."

She still seemed somewhat skeptical, but a small smile started to show on her face. "Great! Good. So… You want me to write you a script now?"

Just a nod.

"Do you want me to keep writing for you…?" _Now that Wilson is back; and has been for a while…_

Another nod.

When she wordlessly held out the script a minute later, House shot her a brief glance.

"This doesn't mean it was all in my head last year; it just means that the PT's working…" He sounded almost a little defensive.

Cuddy immediately shook her head. "I wasn't going to suggest anything like it!"

When he reached out to take the script, she quickly placed her free hand on top of his, effectively preventing any further movement.

He hesitantly met her gaze.

Smiling slightly, Cuddy's expression suddenly softened considerably. "I'm glad you're feeling better, House…"

Hesitating for a long moment, he finally replied with a very small nod. "Yeah… Me too."

* * *

**April III**

"Jimmy…!"

House – as usual – barged into the other man's office without even _thinking _of somehow announcing his presence beforehand...

"Take tomorrow off – we're going on a road trip!"

Wilson almost would have smiled at his friend's enthusiasm. It had been a while, since he had last seen the other man this energetic. Between the stronger medication, the pain, and the lingering weakness he'd still been experiencing due to the dramatic weight loss he had suffered, House had almost always been at least tired, if not exhausted. Over the last few months, he had slowly started to visibly regain some of his strength, but this was the first time he seemed to be practically bursting with energy again.

Still…

"House… I can't just take the day off! Some of us actually do have patients, you know?"

"Yeah, but _you _don't. At least not tomorrow…"

The look he gave him was innocent enough. A bit _too _innocent actually…

Wilson barely managed to suppress a moan. "House... What have you done?"

As if on cue, the older man handed him a calendar sheet. "Been re-appointing your appointments! You have a long weekend waiting for you... And so do your patients!" He finished with an exuberant shrug. "Everyone's happy!"

Wilson couldn't help but roll his eyes at that. "More like _you're_ happy... – And you can't just – "

"Can. And _did_!" He was actually smiling openly by now.

That was when Wilson finally broke. "Okay, so…" He replied with the resigned sigh he knew was expected of him, even though he was secretly just glad to see his friend like that, happy to be part of whatever had brought on the mood. "I'm sure I'll regret asking, but where are we going?"

"Not telling. But pack a bathing suit…" House grinned evilly. "This is gonna be fun!"

With that he turned around and left the room as abruptly as he'd come.

Only now allowing the smile that had been threatening to show all along to settle on his face, Wilson slowly shook his head.

Then he chuckled, before turning towards his paperwork again, still smiling broadly.

"I'm so gonna regret this, but… Thank God for fun."

* * *

**THE END :)**

**A/N: I know, I know... This was as 'fluffy' as I ever get, but I just couldn't help myself. :) BTW... Can any of you wonderful native speakers help me out a bit and explain to me what the term "to put someone on retainer" actually means? My dictionary tells me confusing things...  
**

**Anyway... THANK YOU ALL SO VERY MUCH FOR READING AND FOR ALL YOUR WONDERFUL COMMENTS!! -- See you soon! :)**


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